House of Cards
by Petronille
Summary: While the Voltron Force was fighting a war against King Zarkon, someone else was surreptitiously doing the same thing on the inside, and soon an unexpected alliance is formed.
1. Prelude

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine. **

**House of Cards**

**Prelude: Coup d'Etat**

It had all been a surprise to Allura.

It had begun late at night, when Coran received a coded transmission from an unknown ship seeking to land. By early morning they were all called to the council chamber for an impromptu meeting with the Illyrian prime minister. Allura's stomach lurched at this; she'd always regarded the Illyrians as an unknown quantity-and a potentially dangerous one at that-since their grand duchess had married King Zarkon and brought their kingdom into his fold.

Ancelin Fosco was as well-dressed as ever, with a fine doublet and a gold chain about his neck signifying his rank. He reminded Allura of a hawk on the lookout for prey, though she was certain that he had come to Arus for a different reason.

"Your Royal Highness," he said, bowing deeply to her. Yes, he was well-versed in all of the courtly manners. But underneath the veneer lie a cunning, resourceful political tactician. It was Ancelin Fosco who had arranged the marriage between the late grand duchess and Zarkon, and it was also Ancelin Fosco who had been able to persuade Lotor to take one of the grand duchess's cousins as a first wife. Allura gestured for him to rise, and he surveyed her with cool, steely eyes.

"How well you look!" he went on. "The Queen will be most pleased to hear of this!"

"Don't you mean the Crown Princess?" Keith interjected, and here Ancelin smiled and shook his head.

"She is now Queen, for her husband has made himself King," he replied.

Allura sucked in her breath. So it was just as they had feared: Lotor had finally gotten restless enough to overthrow Zarkon. "What's the reason for your visit, Prime Minister Fosco?" she said evenly, motioning for him to sit.

Ancelin settled into a chair, eyeing each member of the Voltron force and then Coran levelly. _He doesn't trust us, either, _Allura realized, seeing his lips quirk at Hunk's scowl.

Fosco folded his hands on the table in front of him, his expression sobering. "The Queen," he began, "has fled Doom with her children and her ladies. She sent me ahead to speak with you. She asks for sanctuary, and she seeks to treat with you."

"A likely story," Hunk scoffed, and Lance rolled his eyes and glared at Fosco. Coran held up his hand to still them.

"I've spoken with the Queen herself," he told them. "She has her children with her, and she seeks an alliance."

_An alliance. _Sophie Beatrix, now Queen of the Drule Empire, sought an alliance with Arus and Galaxy Garrison. "Why does she seek an alliance?" Allura asked Coran.

Coran's face grew grave. "Princess, she seeks help in putting her son on the throne."


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine. Thank you so much for all of the feedback! I appreciate it!**

**Playlist: "Shake It Out" by Florence and the Machine, "To Kill a King"by Hungry Lucy, "The Truth Beneath the Rose" by Within Temptation, "Russian Roulette" by Rihanna, "Steel" by Charlotte Martin, "Once in Every Lifetime" by Jem, "Nara" by ****E. S. Posthumus.**

**House of Cards**

**Chapter One**

_Six years previously._

_Castle Doom._

It was said that the corridors of the Queen's wing were haunted, but of course, no one had been brave enough to see what exactly wandered the halls at night. The corridors grew chilly at night anyhow, so this added to the list of reasons the Queen's ladies-in-waiting gave themselves not to go out hunting ghosts. It wouldn't do to wander the halls now, though, since the Queen was ill again and all of them were needed to tend to her.

It had begun with the Queen complaining of a tickle in her throat, and so Sophie-who had been at her side that day-had sent for the handmaiden to bring tea with honey and lemon to soothe it. The remedy worked, and the Queen was quite well for a few months. But then the sore throat had returned, along with a fever, and it progressed into a deep cough and inflammation of the lungs. The doctors had been unsure of what the cause was: some said it was pneumonia, some said bronchitis, some said an allergic reaction to something. One doctor even suggested that the Queen return to her home world of Illyria and take in the pure air at her villa in the mountains. Yet somehow Sophie didn't think that the pure air in the mountains would help Plautilla.

And just as suddenly as they had set in, all symptoms disappeared The Queen was again able to join her husband the King in the throne room. Zarkon, ever so eager to establish himself as King and the highest authority in the empire, had never allowed his wives to sit at his side. Yet it was always important for the Queen to be present, and so she had always sat in an ornate chair to the right of the dais. There were almost always two ladies-in-waiting present to attend to the Queen should she need it. When Sophie dutifully stood behind the chair, she watched carefully as the King held court, as the Queen heard petitions from her humble subjects, as the old witch Haggar observed the whole of it from her own corner.

_Don't trust Haggar. Never trust Haggar. _Ancelin Fosco had said that when Plautilla had sent for Sophie, before she had left Illyria and the beautiful palaces she had always called home. There were rumors that the first Queen-the mother of the Crown Prince-_had _trusted the witch, and that it had only resulted in her death. Plautilla would acknowledge Haggar and was courteous to her, but it never progressed beyond that, for Plautilla was wary of her as well.

Plautilla had been well enough for at least four weeks, well enough to take the little princesses out riding in the wood that had been constructed just for them, well enough to plan a trip to the villa in Illyria in the summer.

Until she awakened late a few nights ago with a raging fever and a harsh, dry cough. The doctors had been able to give her something to sleep and had administered medicine to bring her fever down, but she was still pale and wan, with dark shadows under her eyes. Sophie had stood by the bedside clutching her cousin's hand, at a loss as to what to do. The King's chief doctor bid the other ladies to gather in the salon. They left, wringing their hands and wiping tears from their eyes. Sophie tried to maintain a semblance of calm, even though she wished to weep and carry on as well.

"Sophie," Plautilla whispered, licking her dry lips and squeezing the girl's hand. "There are some things I would wish you to do for me."

"No," Sophie said, "no, I won't leave your side, Plautilla."

"Sweet cousin." Plautilla smiled sadly up at her. "You are too kind to remain at my side! But you must take charge of my ladies and keep up the appearance that there is nothing to fear, that this shall pass."

"You _don't _think that this will pass?" Sophie said very quietly, her heart leaping to her throat. "But Plautilla, it has always passed, and soon you'll be well again…"

Tears shimmered in Plautilla's eyes, and she turned her face away so that Sophie couldn't see them fall. "You must send for your brother," she said resolutely, "and have him bring Fosco with him."

"_Why?" _Sophie asked, and then Plautilla began to cough again. Sophie handed her the handkerchief that had been set on the bedside table, and Plautilla took it, holding it up to her mouth. Sophie placed her hand on Plautilla's shoulder as the coughs wracked her body. Soon the fit passed, though Plautilla lay there for a moment, trembling. She turned to Sophie, handing her the handkerchief.

"You see?" she quavered. "Don't you see?"

Sophie looked down at the crumpled handkerchief in her hand.

It was spotted red with blood.

* * *

Sophie emerged from the Queen's bedroom, hurried through the boudoir, and opened the double doors to the salon where the other ladies-in-waiting were huddled on sofas and chairs, weeping quietly. The doctor had left some minutes ago, no doubt to give his grave report to the King. She approached Hortense, who was the presiding lady over the Queen's household, and took the older woman's hand.

"How is the Queen?" Hortense intoned. Sophie pressed her lips together, shaking her head. Hortense nodded, her face grave, and then leaned closer to Sophie. "What does the Queen wish for us to do, Archduchess?" she queried.

Sophie glanced about the room at the other ladies, who seemed to be listening for some kind of instruction. "I must send for my brother," she told Hortense. "And someone must sit with the Queen at all hours. She mustn't be left alone."

Hortense rose. "I shall see to it. I shall assign the ladies shifts. What of the princesses?"

Sophie inhaled deeply, steeling herself. "They must be told. They must be prepared for the inevitable. I-I shall do it."

"Perhaps the King would wish to do so?"

_The King has no interest in them. _"I shall go to the King, and ask him how he should like me to go about it."

Hortense's lips trembled a bit, but she managed a thin smile. "I am sure he will be able to give you some direction on it, Archduchess."

This reassured Sophie somewhat. Hortense began delegating tasks to the ladies, and Sophie left the salon and went through the anteroom to access the corridor. She shivered a bit at the sudden chill, then continued down the corridor to the staircase that led to the main floor. She made her way through the crowded hallway, ignoring the not so subtle stares from the King's soldiers and the Drule courtiers. It was different here without Plautilla. They didn't see her as the Queen's lady-in-waiting and a young woman of gentle rank and breeding, but as a girl ripe for the picking. She picked up her skirts, careful not to let the hem of her gown brush against the men around her as a way of showing her disdain for them. One soldier said something to her in the Drule language and his comrades laughed, and Sophie looked at him icily over her shoulder to convey that she had understood every word that had come out of his mouth.

"Archduchess!" Sophie felt a hand lightly placed upon her shoulder, and she looked up to see the tall, proud figure of the Crown Prince beside her. All at once the crowd's demeanor began to change. At one look from the Crown Prince, they moved so that she could pass through the hallway unencumbered. A smile played on the Crown Prince's lips as he offered her his arm so that she could walk with him. Sophie stared up at him levelly and placed her hand in the crook of his arm. "Shall we?" he asked her.

"Please," Sophie replied, and he led her down the hallway to the doors of his father's throne room.

Sophie had never known what to make of Crown Prince Lotor, even when she had been a little girl and he had come to Illyria with her brother on holiday from the Academy. What she _did _know was that, though he was courteous and pleasing toward herself, Plautilla, and his younger sisters, he could be quite cruel. He did not hold his father in very high regard, but then the King didn't hold him in very high regard, either. As a general he was brilliant, and as a conqueror he was ruthless. He had returned home a few months ago basking in the full glory of his success at adding more planets to the empire, but no one remembered that. Instead, they remembered his recent defeats at the hands of the Arusian war machine and the pilots who operated it.

"How is my stepmother?" he asked suddenly. The question startled Sophie, but he stared down at her inquisitively, as though expecting her to answer.

"She is ill again," Sophie answered carefully. "She is worse off than last time. She wishes for me to send for my brother, and for Ancelin Fosco…"

Lotor chuckled. "Your brother. My father tells me that your brother governs Illyria admirably in Plautilla's stead, and then he takes every opportunity he can to remind me of my failures."

Sophie didn't know what to say to this. "Perhaps it's because you're his son and will be King someday. I'm sure he wants to go to his death knowing that his son will carry on his legacy and carry it on well."

"Sweet, sweet Sophie! You make it sound like he has good reason for it!" Lotor laughed. "Tell me something, Sophie: Do you think Sebastian would fare well in combat with the mighty Voltron?"

They had stopped their journey down the hallway, and he was now staring down at her expectantly with his startling yellow eyes. Yes, yes, it always came to this: Somehow Lotor would always try to hazard a guess as to what Sebastian would do in such situations, whether or not Sebastian would return a conquering hero. And Sophie would always have the same answer for him.

"I can't say for certain," Sophie said honestly. "You and Sebastian are so different, and you have had so much more experience in war than he has. I think that his losses would be greater than yours."

Lotor considered this for a moment, and then he smiled suavely down at Sophie. "As always, Sophie, you're right. Maybe my father should listen to what you have to say. You seem to provide better counsel than those fools he has as ministers."

"My lord prince, you're quite the flatterer!" Sophie observed lightly. "Just as you have always been!"

The guards jumped to attention and pushed open the metal double doors for them. The cavernous throne room had always been badly lit, Sophie reflected, but today it was worse. Only half of the lights were being used, and those were the lights around the dais upon which the King's throne stood. The King busied himself with the perusal of documents, the contents of which Sophie could only begin to imagine, and with draining the last few drops from a goblet of wine. Once he had finished, he snapped his fingers, and a handmaiden clad in a scanty dress of some sheer, flimsy material appeared with a pitcher in hand to fill it. She mounted the dais, ascending the steps carefully, and refilled the King's goblet. Before she could back away, the King reached forward to cup her cheek in his hand, staring at her for some moments, until he nodded and let her go. The handmaiden descended the steps a bit shakily, and Sophie thought that she could see dread in her face, but there was no way to be sure.

Sophie disengaged herself from Lotor, murmuring words of thanks, and followed the guard across the room until they stood before the throne. "Archduchess Sophie of Illyria, Sire," the guard announced. Sophie bowed into a deep curtsy, and she heard the King guffaw.

"You may rise," he told her. She rose to her feet, lifting her head so that she could address the King. Zarkon regarded her curiously, so she decided that it would be best to speak.

"I bring news about the Queen, Majesty," she began. "She's quite ill, as you know…"

The King nodded, then beckoned for her to ascend the steps of the dais. "Let's talk about this more privately," he explained, shooting a cold glance at his son. Sophie picked up the skirts of her gown and ascended the steps of the dais. She felt the King's eyes on her, as though he was appraising her. _Lecher, _she thought. And then there was a movement in the shadows. Of course-Haggar seated on the stool in her corner, with that horrible blue cat purring on her lap.

The King motioned for the guard to bring up a cushioned stool for Sophie. Once it had been placed properly alongside the King's throne, she perched onto it. The King laid his scepter across his lap and put her hand on her shoulder, his reptilian face becoming grave. "How ill is the Queen?" he asked her with almost mock concern.

Sophie inwardly flinched at the King's touch; she could feel the coldness of his hands even through the blue silk of her gown, but outwardly, she remained as calm and poised as ever. "She is very ill, Majesty," she replied. "I would like to inform the princesses, but I thought I would let you do it, as their father…"

He seemed to blink a few times at the mention of the two little girls. _Do you even know their names? _Sophie wondered. "Is she dying, Archduchess?"

"Your doctors believe so."

He nodded, downing the contents of the wine goblet and snapping his fingers for the handmaiden to appear again. Sophie kept her eyes downcast as the young woman shakily poured the King more wine. Once the handmaiden had left, she turned her face up to the King.

"I think it'd be best if you told them, Sire," she went on. "You are their father, and they do love you…"

"But they're afraid of me." Was the King drunk? "No, Sophie, _you_ tell them. Or have their brother do it. Have Lotor do it, Sophie. He's very well acquainted with how it feels when mothers die."

From Archduchess to Sophie. This was very disarming, to say the least. And then the part about mothers dying…

"She had asked for me to send for my brother and for Ancelin Fosco, Majesty," Sophie said.

The King nodded. "Send for Sebastian, Sophie. I'd like to see him."

"I shall," Sophie said quietly. The King grinned, patting Sophie's dark hair, and she closed her eyes at the coldness against her scalp.

She opened her eyes once the King had leaned back into his throne. "Sebastian," the King said incongruously, regarding the tip of his scepter, a golden hand with a pointed index finger, "I'd like to see Sebastian. It's been too long." He turned to her again, the grin showing his white, pointed teeth. "If Sebastian chooses to remain on Doom and to appoint someone else to govern Illyria, he will have the future before him and the universe at his feet. Tell him that." He'd raised his voice at this point, eyeing his son, who'd been standing at the entrance of the throne room.

"I will, Majesty. Or perhaps you could tell him yourself, when he arrives," Sophie answered.

"He's too concerned about Illyria. Illyria can take care of itself. I could appoint anyone to govern it, and it would fall into step, into the rank and file."

"Perhaps all he wants _is _Illyria, Majesty. He's not given to overly grand ambitions."

"Which is why I trust him."

"Why, Majesty!" Sophie was shocked. "And do you not trust you own son?"

"I'd sooner trust an executioner."

Sophie shuddered at this. "Majesty, he is your son. He would serve you better than my brother."

"So you say."

"So I say."

He narrowed his yellow, reptilian eyes. "You tread dangerously, Archduchess Sophie."

She inclined your head. "But when I first arrived at this Court three years ago, Majesty, you told me that of all people, you trusted those of us from the Illyrian House of Vasary, that we could speak freely with you. So I speak freely with you, Sire. I tell you what I think. If you wish me to speak differently, then say so now, and I shall speak differently."

The King scoffed. "You know what you are, Archduchess Sophie? All pretty words. Pretty words from a pretty face. And do you know what pretty words mean? Nothing!" He cut his hand across the air in front of her face to emphasize this, and she couldn't help but stare at the sharp claws. Cold hands and sharp claws that Plautilla had endured for so many nights…

He then returned away. "You may leave, Archduchess, and see to my daughters."

Sophie was relieved at this. She rose from the stool and curtsied deeply, murmuring, "Majesty." He waved his hand to dismiss her, and she couldn't descend the stairs more quickly.

She passed Lotor, who caught her by the arm, drawing her close to him. "So it's true, then? Queen Plautilla is dying?"

Sophie felt tears fill her eyes, and without looking at him, she nodded. "Yes, my lord Prince."

"Come with me."

She let him lead her into the privacy of the corridor, and he repeated the questions. Biting her lips, Sophie replied, "She is, Your Grace. She is close to death, and she wishes to see my brother and Prime Minister Fosco before it happens…"

"Don't call me Your Grace, Sophie." Here his voice grew soft, softer than Sophie had ever known, except, perhaps, with his sisters. "We played together as children, and we used no formalities. Don't you remember Sebastian and me as we rode through the meadows of the north of Illyria, and how we would wait for you while you rode on your pony?"

"You picked grapes for me," Sophie said, her heart lifting a bit. "You picked grapes for me and called me your lady fair, and told me that you would be my knight and die for my honor, and Sebastian said…"

"And Sebastian said he wished it so."

"Sebastian wished a thousand things," Sophie said laughingly, "but they didn't come to pass."

"And I've wished a thousand things."

"A thousand things? Is one of those thousand Allura of Arus?"

He bristled at this. "Don't speak of it, Sophie."

She stepped back. "So I see."

"And what do you see, Sophie?"

She arched a dark brow. "A thousand things."

He stepped forward. "Sophie…"

She looked away from him. "I shall call Sebastian. Go to Palmira and Darya; they love you most."

"And what will I tell them, Sophie?"

She closed her eyes. "Tell them their mamma loves them very much. Tell them their mamma will see them once…"

"Sophie."

She opened her eyes. "We were children."

"We weren't."

"Lotor, I was but fourteen. _We were children."_

_Might I kiss you, lady fair?_

_Oh, knight valiant, so you may!_

_Will Sebastian be angry?_

_Silly! I won't tell him!_

"Sophie." He reached for her hand.

"Tell them, Lotor. Go to Palmira and Darya and tell them. I will send for Sebastian."

And she brushed him away, tears gathering in her eyes.

They had more or less grown up together.

And now they had grown apart.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine. Thank you so much for all of the feedback! I appreciate it!**

**Author's Note: Plautilla is inspired by a painting of young Catherine of Braganza, the wife of King Charles II of England.**

**House of Cards**

**Chapter Two**

Sebastian grew somber when Sophie delivered to him the news of Plautilla's illness and what seemed to be her impending death. "And the King…how is he taking it?" he said.

Sophie chose her words carefully. "He doesn't seem to be affected by it, but perhaps he was in shock…"

"Perhaps he was," Sebastian murmured. One always had to be cautious about what was said during computerized communications. Who knew if they were being recorded or watched, particularly here? "Prime Minister Fosco and I will leave at once. I will contact the King before we land."

Sophie nodded, and the screen went black. She went toward Plautilla's bedroom to see that she was sound asleep and that one of her ladies kept vigil over her. She turned on her heel and went through the boudoir to the salon and stopped in her tracks when she heard voices in the anteroom.

She clenched her jaw when she heard the high-pitched croak of Haggar. "The King has sent me to see what I could do for the Queen," she explained. "Sometimes magic is the only thing that can cure illnesses."

The young lady-in-waiting answered, "The Queen is quite ill, and…" The girl's voice trailed off, and that was when Sophie burst into the room. "Archduchess!" she exclaimed.

Haggar raised her head a bit to catch Sophie's eye, and Sophie swore that she could see the faintest of smiles on the bent crone's ravaged face. "Archduchess Sophie." She bowed her head momentarily in acknowledgement of Sophie's rank. "As I was telling Mariana" -here she smiled saccharinely at the young lady-in-waiting- "the King has sent me to see if my magic could help the Queen."

"The Queen is asleep now, and is expected to remain so for some time," Sophie said evenly. "Perhaps you should return later?"

The crone's face lit up with something. Sophie tried to put her finger on it, but she couldn't decide if it was a look of triumph or of curiosity satisfied. "Of course, Archduchess," she assented. "Will you call me when she awakens?"

"I'll send for you when she does, Haggar," Sophie answered with an air of finality.

As soon as the witch had gone and the door was shut behind her, Sophie rounded on Mariana. "How did she get in here?"

Mariana's lips trembled. "She knocked on the door and came in, and then she simply began talking and…"

Sophie sighed. "She didn't get past the anteroom?"

"No, Archduchess."

Well, that was a relief. "She mustn't be let in again. Tell her that the Queen is too ill to be bothered. Do you understand?"

Mariana nodded. At that moment Hortense entered the room with a few handmaidens behind her. Sophie pulled her into the salon and explained to her what just had occurred. Hortense paled when Sophie mentioned that Haggar had simply come into the Queen's apartments without any invitation and had tried to persuade Mariana to let her past the anteroom.

"She's determined to see if the rumors about the Queen are true," Hortense posited, turning her head slightly to see if any of the handmaids were trying to listen to them. "We must keep her away from the Queen at all costs."

"I thought the same thing. She would no doubt use her magic to hasten the Queen's death." Sophie grew quiet as the handmaidens passed by them to the bedroom carrying fresh linens. The lady who was currently with the Queen, Rosaline, and Mariana helped Plautilla out of bed and led her to the daybed in the boudoir so that the handmaidens could change the linens.

"Do you think she knows about the charms?" Hortense asked Sophie, and Sophie's eyes traveled up to the bit of wall above the doorframes of the boudoir and bedroom. As a young bride, the Queen had been terrified of the stories of Haggar's magic, and so she had brought a wisewoman with her from Illyria to cast a charm over her rooms. The wisewoman had drawn sigils on the walls above the thresholds of those two rooms to protect Plautilla from Haggar's evil eye. They were very faint and it was difficult to find them, but if one knew what they looked like, they were easy to see.

"I think that she knows by now," Sophie answered. She watched as Mariana fetched a book from the shelf in the boudoir, sat down close to the Queen, and began to read to her. "If you'll excuse me, I must see to the princesses."

"Of course," Hortense responded, and she went into the boudoir to see to the Queen.

* * *

It had been inculcated into Sophie from the time she was a small child that as the daughter of an Illyrian archduke and the granddaughter of the Illyrian Grand Duke, she could the best of many things, but she always must remember one thing: her loyalty to her family was most important. _Blood is everything._ It was the motto and was emblazoned in the Vasary family crest, right below the picture of two swords crossed over one another and a red rose twined through them. Loyalty to family had gotten the House of Vasary to where it was now, with a daughter sitting as Queen of one of the most powerful empires in the galaxy and, moreover, close access to the King and all of the perks and privileges that came with it.

But it hadn't always been that way. Illyria had once parleyed with the Alliance in hopes of joining it, until an incident of what could have been considered friendly fire had ended it. One of the Terran ships had been involved in a skirmish with a ship from the Drule Empire, and the ship carrying the Archduke Nicholas and his wife Emma had somehow gotten caught in the crossfire. It was clear that a missile from the Terran ship had struck the Illyrian liner, and the archduke and archduchess and all other souls aboard were killed instantly.

Sophie had only been five at the time, and Sebastian had only been eight. She remembered bits and pieces of her parents: her mother playing the pianoforte, and then teaching her a song by the Terran composer Mozart; her father taking her on horseback rides on his charger, his arms about her as she sat in front of him clutching the reins as tightly as she could; her mother bending over her sketchbook while she and Sebastian played in the garden with their father. Those were happy times, and Grandpapa had been so proud of his family and of what they would accomplish and what they might accomplish.

And then it was all gone. Stolen from them in what some might call the casualties of war.

Grandpapa had changed after that. He became a man bent not on vengeance, but on finding another way to bring Illyria to greatness. And he saw the other path to it through betrothing his granddaughter Plautilla to Zarkon. Zarkon's first wife-or paramour, depending upon who was telling the story-had betrayed him in the worst way possible, and he had flown into a rage and killed her for it. In one story, she had come to negotiate on behalf of the slaves of her native planet of Arus. In another, she had refused to marry him even after bearing him a son. In still another, she had confided in the court witch Honerva, and Honerva-the young Haggar-had gone to the King, who also happened to be her lover, and then he had gone to confront his wife and had ended up killing her.

The informal ties had begun to form after that: Lotor, who had attended the Academy with Sebastian, had started spending holidays in Illyria instead of going home to Korrinoth. Sophie was never sure of whether or not Lotor and Sebastian were really friends. Sometimes they fought quite horribly, pummeling each other to a bloody pulp while Sophie would run for her governess. Grandpapa had broken up the worst and last of the fights. As punishment, both boys had had to muck out the horse stalls for the last two weeks of their holiday. Sophie wasn't sure if Zarkon had even heard about it, but after her grandfather's intervention, the boys called a truce and there was no more fighting.

It had become apparent that Zarkon and her grandfather were contemplating a marriage between Lotor and herself when Zarkon came to stay at the summer palace the year Sophie turned twelve. Sophie hadn't liked him at first, though she had hidden her disdain for him under a smiling face and charming manners. He had had the audacity to bring his concubine to supper each night, which had caused Aunt Tatia to stammer in dismay. His manners were gauche, he made noise when he ate, and he drank all of the best wine.

But he had sung praises of Sophie. He had assured her grandfather that she would make a wonderful Queen at his son's side, and that he would be proud to have one Illyrian queen sit on the throne after the other.

When their grandfather had died, though, and Zarkon had been able to appoint his own governor to rule Illyria, his tone changed. He became reticent to officially betroth Sophie to Lotor, though he did allow Sophie to come to Court as his wife's lady-in-waiting. There was talk of an engagement to this or that Drule lord, which never came to pass, and-most recently-the young soldier who had insisted he could beat Voltron and who had died trying. That had been a very lucky coincidence, Sophie thought.

And now that Plautilla was dying-it seemed as though the doctors were sure of it-would Zarkon's eye fall on her as his next wife, or had he had his fill of Illyrian women and committed himself to never marrying again? Sophie shuddered at this prospect. _Cold hands and sharp claws. _

She came to the door of the chambers her young cousins inhabited and knocked on it. The girls' governess let her in. Sophie followed her through the anteroom, and into the schoolroom where the Crown Prince sat talking quietly with his sisters.

It was a pity, Sophie thought, that the King took no interest in the upbringing of his daughters. It had fallen to Plautilla. _And now who will see to them?_ Sophie wondered. Not the King. Never the King. Surely, it would fall to her.

Darya looked up when she saw Sophie enter, and she pushed herself off of her brother's lap and ran to Sophie. Sophie knelt down and took the little girl into her arms, listening to her sobs. Palmira was more reserved; she sat on the sofa, weeping quietly, wiping tears from her eyes and sniffling. Lotor's eyes met Sophie's, and he seemed at a loss as to what to do.

"Your cousin Sebastian will arrive some time tomorrow," Sophie told seven-year-old Darya.

"Will he take Mamma to Illyria where she can get better?" Darya asked Sophie, pulling out of her embrace and staring at her with a tear-splotched face.

Sophie took her handkerchief out of the pocket of her gown and dabbed at Darya's eyes. "Your mamma is going to stay here," she said, "but Sebastian is going to do everything he can to try and make sure that she gets well."

"But she _isn't_ going to get well." Here ten-year-old Palmira interrupted Sophie. "She is dying, Darya. That means we'll never see her again, ever, and that Papa will find a new wife, and he'll forget all about us."

_He already has forgotten them._ "Don't say such things, Palmira," Sophie admonished. "Your papa loves both of you very much, though he might not always tell you. He is King, and he is a very busy man…"

_Lies lies lies._

"He is a very busy man," Lotor added, putting his hand on Palmira's shoulder. "This is why he sent me here to tell you about your mamma and to kiss you good night."

He seemed ill at ease with this. Sophie couldn't blame him for it. His half-sisters worshipped him, considered them their conquering hero of a brother. They wrote him letters to open and read while he was away at war, they traced his journeys on the big map of the galaxy in the schoolroom, marking each place he had been with a pin. They spoke lovingly of him, unlike their father.

_Three children, one bullied, the other two forgotten. Such a wonderful father he is,_ Sophie thought dismally as she kissed the girls good night.

Some moments later,. Lotor joined her in the corridor outside the nursery. "You've sent for your brother?" he asked her, and she nodded. "Good."

They walked through the silent corridor together. _And what will he be like with the children of his third wife? If he takes a third?_

"What are you thinking of, Sophie?" he said suddenly.

Her breath caught. Yes, he knew. He always knew when she was deep in thought. Her brow would knit and she would get a distant look in her eyes, and sometimes her expression would betray her feelings about the thoughts themselves.

"Once Plautilla is dead, your father will wait for an acceptable amount of time-after the mourning period back home, perhaps-and then look to take a third wife."

"And do you think it will be you?"

She looked away from him, inhaling shakily.

"You do!" Lotor crossed his arms and stared down at her with an ironic expression on his face. "I can assure you, Sophie, that he's not going to marry you."

"You can?" Sophie exclaimed, her voice strangely shrill. "How…how do you know?"

He smiled mysteriously. "There are rumors about him in the harem…that he finds it difficult to perform certain things."

She knew the meaning of that. As seemingly cloistered of an upbringing she had had, years in Zarkon's court had made her aware of such things. "Then that is why…"

"Then that's why he hardly went to Plautilla after Darya was born? Yes, that's why. He'd rather have a willing slave girl than a dutiful wife. Think of it as a reprieve, Sophie. You won't be _his _Queen."

She wouldn't be Zarkon's Queen. She felt lighter after she heard that, and she gladly dismissed any fear of that possibility from her mind.

They continued down the corridor and then down the staircase to the floor which held her apartments. It was still cold, though Lotor didn't seem to feel it.

They stopped in front of the door to her rooms, and Sophie placed her hand on the doorknob. She then turned to Lotor and asked, "Would you like to come in for a moment? I can send for tea or something else…"

He shook his head, a smirk forming on his face. Perhaps a solution to the war with Arus had come to him, perhaps a new battle plan to try. She opened the door to her rooms and bid him good night. She was about to shut the door when he called out, "Sophie!"

She stood there with the door ajar as he crossed the corridor and stopped a few inches in front of her.

"Yes?" she said.

"You were raised to be a queen," he said abruptly. From the look on his face it seemed as though an idea was crystallizing in his head.

"I was," she admitted. "But I've now found that it's possible for me to be a great many things."

"But still," he continued, as though she had never spoken, "you were raised to be a queen." He leaned closer to her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. "Do you _want _to be a queen?"

This! What was all of this? "What are you asking, Lotor?"

He frowned, glaring at her, almost, and he seemed annoyed at that. "Why not answer the question, Sophie? Do you want to be a queen, yes or no?"

She had never thought of it like that. A long time ago, she would have expected it, but now, with everything that had changed, she wasn't sure if it would ever happen.

But Queen-_Queen!_ She would serve her family well, she would take them to greatness with her. And were she Queen, were she Lotor's Queen…

_A Vasary would sit on the throne of the Drule Empire._ This was what her grandfather had been preparing her for all along. This was why Plautilla had invited her to Court to begin with.

"Yes," she told him honestly. "Yes, I want to be a queen. As I was born to be."

"I knew that you would." He smiled, and his eyes gleamed. "If I told you that I could make you a queen, would you trust me?"

"When have I not trusted you?" she riposted.

"True, you've always trusted me," he muttered. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "And if you keep trusting me, Sophie, I'll make you a queen."


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine. I ended up rewriting this chapter because I wasn't happy with it.**

**House of Cards**

**Chapter Three**

"Plautilla is dying." The words didn't sound real coming out of Sebastian's mouth.

"She has been ill on and off for some time, and now it seems that the illness has taken a turn for the worse."

"And do you know of her ailment?" Ancelin Fosco poured himself some more wine, his brow furrowing in concern.

"A fever and inflammation of the lungs. She's coughing up blood."

"Poison?"

"It could be."

"The King."

There was a silence between them. Sebastian pushed his plate away and rose from his chair. "And if it _is _poison, he would have a good reason for it…"

"Or else it's the witch," Ancelin offered. "And she would have good reason as well, or perhaps he may have ordered it…"

Sebastian didn't wish to speculate any further on it. He would wait until they arrived on Doom and they had seen Plautilla to draw any conclusions. If Plautilla did die, there was the question of what would be done with Palmira and Darya. Sebastian would ideally like to see them brought up in Illyria, and his sister home as well. But he knew in his heart of hearts that Zarkon would never allow this to happen. The princesses were his daughters and should grow up in his court, and Sophie would no doubt be kept to oversee their household.

Hostages.

"The stranglehold grows tighter, then," Ancelin observed.

"Soon he'll start squeezing the life out of Illyria," Sebastian said angrily. "We are nothing to him."

Ancelin's eyes glinted. "Something fortuitous might happen our way. Zarkon hasn't made slaves of us yet."

"No," Sebastian acknowledged, "but it doesn't mean that the thought hasn't crossed his mind."

"If I may, Your Grace," Ancelin ventured, "there is always the option that we return to the plan your grandfather originally had. If we were to somehow persuade the Prince to enter into marriage with your sister, then that would only help Illyria to maintain its present position as a beloved protectorate of the Drule Empire."

"You would ask me to barter my sister so that Illyria might maintain its present position?" Sebastian said incredulously.

"It is not bartering, Your Grace. It's simply-as the Terrans say-calling in a favor. The marriage was arranged long ago, and Zarkon has not kept his word and has more or less stalled it. If Lotor could be nudged to approach his father and press his suit for Sophie, then the King would have no choice but to agree with it. The King wishes for his only son and heir to marry, and the Prince's deluded obsession with the Arusian princess has dashed all hopes of that. If you could offer Lotor something in exchange for marriage to Sophie, then no doubt he will go to his father and demand to marry your sister. Zarkon will have no choice; he has no other sons, and he needs to be sure that his line will continue on."

True. All of this was true. The last time Lotor had come to Illyria on the way home from another failed campaign, he had spoken of how much he detested his father and how he wished the old sot would die. "If not, I may need to wrest the throne from him. You _will_ support me, won't you, Sebastian? We're friends, after all. You'd be well rewarded. I can promise you that."Sebastian wasn't sure if he could really call Lotor a _friend_. Did the Prince really have any friends?

"And Sophie? What of her? Does she deserve to be used as a bargaining chip?" Sebastian demanded.

"Sophie has been raised with the expectation of marrying the Crown Prince. She will do what is required of her. She is a Vasary. She will serve her family first. Because blood is everything."

And that was true, more so than Sebastian would have liked to admit.

* * *

The liner landed early in the morning, and Sebastian and Ancelin were shown to their rooms and then left alone so that they could rest before the rest of the castle woke. Before he retired, Sebastian found that there were quite a few messages for him. One from the King, one from Lotor, and one from Sophie.

He left a message for the King requesting an audience in the midmorning. But first, he must see his sister about Plautilla's condition. If things were just as was feared, then he must be there to ensure that his sister and the princesses suffered no ill effects from it.

* * *

If there had been any constant in Sophie's life, it would be death. The deaths of her parents, her uncle-Plautilla's father, her grandmother, her grandfather, and now Plautilla herself.

Here on Doom, death was all around. Beyond the Queen's wing, there was death and suffering, so needless, but so vital to Doom that it had become part of everyday living here. Sophie had done her best to ignore it, to remain within the little respite that Plautilla had created. But it was so difficult not to see it on the days she had stood at the Queen's side in the throne room, trying to maintain a mask of indifference as the guards dragged away slaves who sought the Queen's intervention.

Sophie rolled over in her bed, sighing. Many times, Plautilla had been seen as the last best hope to the slaves for some type of mercy, but really, the Queen hadn't the power to help all of them. She would do the best she could, including finding some place for them in her household or that of her daughters. But she hadn't been able to save all of them from cruel fates, and Sophie knew that had always weighed heavily on Plautilla's conscience.

But when Sophie was Queen…

_When I am Queen I shall persuade Lotor to abolish the arena spectacles. When I am Queen I shall be as good and merciful and as much of a hope to the slaves as Plautilla is. When I am Queen…_

"Mistress." It was one of Sophie's handmaidens, Celia, a young girl who had been spared from the harem only by Plautilla's intervention. She quietly approached Sophie's bedside. "Mistress, you must wake up. Your brother is here."

_Sebastian!_ Sophie quickly rose and took the dressing gown Celia had been holding for her. She entered her sitting room, where Sebastian was standing appraising the newly upholstered sofa. He turned to her when he heard her enter, and she all but ran to him. He took her into his arms and she wrapped her own arms around him. "Brother! I'm so happy you're here!" She felt tears prick her eyes as she buried her face into the shoulder of his jerkin.

"There now, Sophie," he whispered comfortingly, stroking her dark chestnut hair. He disengaged himself from her embrace and took her hands into his. "Have the princesses been told?"

"Yes, Lotor and I did it ourselves. The King wished for Lotor to do it, and Lotor did as instructed." She turned to Celia, who stood waiting to attend her. "Please, Celia-some hot wine for the archduke and myself." Once Celia had left the room to fetch the hot wine, Sophie sat down on the sofa. Sebastian sat down beside her, at a point from which he could easily see the door to the hallway open or close.

"Is there something else?" he queried, his blue eyes wary. She lifted her shoulder, the leaned forward.

"I've been frightened that Zarkon might wish to marry me after Plautilla has died. I confided this to Lotor, who told me not to worry, for the King has no wish to marry again."

"But?" Sebastian prodded. Yes, there was always that _but _with Lotor. They had both learned to expect it.

"But," Sophie said, "as we left the princesses' rooms last night, he asked me something: whether or not I wished to be Queen."

Sebastian's ears seemed to prick up, and he grabbed her hand, his face suddenly eager. "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him that I would. He told me that if I trusted him, he would make me a queen."

Sebastian sucked in his breath. "So he has moved already," he intoned.

"He? Who is he, and what do you mean?" Sophie demanded.

"Plautilla has long wanted Zarkon to follow through on his word so that you and the Prince might marry. But now that Lotor has moved first…" Sebastian grinned. "This makes it all the easier, sister dear."

"But he asked if I wanted to be _a _queen, not _his _queen," Sophie countered, trying to make sense of it trying not to sound _too_ eager for it. "He could marry me off to one of the petty client kings of the Drule Empire. He wants the Arusian princess as his queen."

"Does the Arusian princess come with a fleet of ships numbering in the thousands, or lords and dukes who have sworn undying loyalty to her, or a great fortune?" Sebastian asked pointedly. "Or _true_ blood royal?"

And true, the Arusian princess came with none of those things. What she had, though, was a vanguard of knights true who were determined to protect her and help her to preserve the independence of her home planet. And, of course, there was the war machine Voltron. The princess had recently begun piloting the Blue Lion, which had infuriated Zarkon and made her even more appealing to Lotor.

_But she isn't like me,_ Sophie thought. _She isn't as accomplished, and she has no idea of what it would mean to be Queen of the Drule Empire. She is just a little girl who dresses up and plays ruler of Arus while her prime minister really does all of it._

"Plautilla will be delighted," Sebastian went on. "You'll be Queen, just as Grandfather wanted, just as you should have been Crown Princess by now. And if he is able to have the Arusian princess, she will be but his concubine."

"And if he chooses to take other wives?"

"Take other wives?"

"You know the old custom."

Sebastian made a face. "Oh, yes, _that. _Ancelin has already thought of that."

"And what has he thought of?"

"He'll have it put in the marriage contract. If Lotor must take other wives, then you must be the primary Queen-the _true _Queen-and all his other wives, even Allura fair, must come after you."

So it _was_ true.

_Queen. He wishes to make me Queen. His Queen._

"And what will Lotor have in return?" Sophie asked quietly. Because she knew that Lotor would always want something in return for whatever he might be giving, and then some more. All so that it would work out in his favor.

"The thousands of ships. The fealty of all Illyrian dukes and lords. The vast fortune. The nine planets and moon colonies alone you'll bring him."

_A fleet. An army. Political backing. _

He was planning to wrest the throne from Zarkon. There had been rumors of it whispered about the castle now and again, particularly when Lotor was angry with his father. Sophie had always dismissed anything Lotor might have said to that effect as part of his quick temper: words spoken rashly in anger and then forgotten just as quickly.

"So, then," Sophie surmised, "he really means to do it?"

Sebastian nodded slowly.

"And you remember the one thing that Grandfather said about achieving greatness."

Of course Sophie remembered.

_Greatness is achieved through not only careful planning, quick decision-making, and cunning, but most of all, through patience._

"And in Illyria," Sophie said, watching as Celia returned to the room carrying a tray of two goblets and a pitcher of hot, spiced wine, "we are _very_ patient."

Celia set the tray down on a table and then poured them each a glass. She brought them the glasses, and they each took theirs carefully in an effort not to spill the hot wine. Sebastian raised his goblet to Sophie. "Why, yes, sister dear, so we are!"

"So we are!" Sophie laughed, lifting the brim of the goblet to her lips.

* * *

"Well, well, Sebastian." Lotor emerged from his bedroom, tying the sash of his dressing gown. "You're determined to make me an early riser, aren't you?" He took a seat at the table in the anteroom, then gestured for Sebastian to take the seat across from his.

"It was a late night, Your Grace?" Sebastian said carefully, pointedly trying to ignore the disheveled concubine carrying her shoes as she tried to slip out the door.

"A very late night." Lotor waved his hand and the handmaiden brought him a platter laden with fruit and meat and two hardboiled eggs carefully placed in eggcups. "Sophie said that you would be arriving very early in the morning. Did you have a chance to rest?"

"For a bit," Sebastian replied. "But you were otherwise occupied, I take it?"

"I was," Lotor murmured, picking at his breakfast. "And I would've been otherwise occupied if you hadn't so rudely interrupted me."

"Rudely?" Sebastian echoed, raising his eyebrows. "Your Grace, when it concerns my beloved sister I shall always be rude."

Lotor smiled at Sebastian's wit. "Stop calling me Your Grace, Sebastian. We've known each other far too long for you to do that." He took a sip of coffee, then smoothed his napkin over the lap of his silk pajama pants. "So Sophie told you?"

"She did."

"It doesn't surprise me that she would tell you as soon as she saw you. Do you have anything to say about it?"

"Lotor, as I said, I'm her brother. Therefore, I _shall_ have something to say about it, as will Ancelin Fosco."

"And what does Fosco think?"

"He is optimistic that the marriage will finally take place. That is, if you mean to marry her."

Lotor chewed on the ham for a moment, considering this. "Of course I mean to marry her!" he snapped back.

"Have you gone to your father about it?"

"I plan to. Why? When do you see him?"

"At noon. Precisely."

Lotor sighed, squeezing his eyes shut at what must have been a shock of pain from drinking too much wine. "Then I'll go to him before that. He'll be pleased that I'm marrying, less pleased that it's Sophie. But Sophie is better than any of the other princesses he's paraded before me in the last few months."

Sebastian decided to tackle the hardest part of it here. "There will be the terms outlined in the marriage contract, but one I fear that we must speak of now."

"Really, Sebastian?" Lotor cocked his head, staring at him expectantly. "What's the term?"

"It has to do with your pursuit of the Arusian princess."

"Allura. She has a name."

"Very well, then. Allura."

"What about her?"

Sebastian reached for the cup of coffee that had been poured out for him. "Since Sophie is the bride of your choosing, you must convey the message you want her to be your Queen. And to do so, you must cease pursuing Allura of Arus." Sebastian paused when he saw Lotor's face contort in anger. "For a time."

"For a time? _For a time? _For how long?"

"For some months."

Lotor glared at Sebastian. "For this long?"

"Long enough for my sister to be accepted as Crown Princess, as the true future Queen, and as mother to your heirs."

The Prince's mouth tightened, and he scowled down at the platter for a moment, picking at the grapes. At length he addressed Sebastian. "And if I don't agree to these terms?"

"Then there will be no marriage, no thousands of ships, no fealty from any Illyrian dukes or lords, no vast fortune, and no dowry."

"You're much too clever, Sebastian," Lotor said, sitting back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "You know me too well."

"And you know _me _too well," Sebastian riposted, watching as Lotor finished his meal. "But I would still be honored to call you brother."

"You would. I have no doubts about that." He watched as Sebastian rose to leave. "I'll go to my father before you do. Needless to say, he'll be surprised." A smile played on the corners of Lotor's lips. "_Very_ surprised."

"Indeed," Sebastian said, bowing before leaving. And as the door slid shut behind him, he drew a deep breath.

Their grandfather had never counted on one thing.

That they would be dealing with the devil himself.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine.**

**House of Cards **

**Chapter Four**

Sebastian went to see his cousin in the midmorning, bidding the lady-in-waiting on duty to leave them for a few minutes.

"Sebastian." Plautilla weakly tried to sit up, but he placed his hand on her shoulder to still her.

"Save your strength, cousin," he advised.

She laughed bitterly, a harsh, dry sound. "There is no strength left, Sebastian. I can feel it ebbing away from me bit by bit. That witch…" She shuddered.

"You think it was the witch?"

"I don't know who." She shook her head frantically, tears sliding down her gaunt cheeks. "Perhaps it was her, perhaps it was my husband…"

It could be anyone. It could have been anyone who had grown tired of the Queen's policy of mercy toward the palace slaves. It could have been Zarkon looking to get rid of a burdensome wife and marry Sophie in hopes of fathering more sons. _A pity that won't happen._ Or another Drule faction who wished to put another Queen on the throne…

"Sophie will be safe," Sebastian said, taking her cold, thin hand. "Lotor is with his father as we speak. He is informing the King of his intention to marry Sophie."

Plautilla blinked twice. "Lotor? Lotor has decided to marry Sophie? Does-does he even love her? And the princess of Arus… "

Love. Could Lotor really love anyone? Did he even understand the concept?

"The little Arusian parvenue is nothing to be concerned of now," he told Plautilla. "He told me this morning he intends to marry Sophie and that is that, whether or not the King is displeased. It's not a question of love, Plautilla. It's a good match, for both him and her. And Sophie…"

_Your sister, Sebastian. She's still such a child, even at sixteen. _

_Why would you say so?_

_I've seen how she looks at me when she thinks no one else is watching. Those eyes…they say everything when she allows them to._

_Indeed? And what do you see?_

_She loves me, Sebastian._ A cock of the eyebrow, a note of irony in his voice. _Lotor, Crown Prince of Doom, is loved by a little Illyrian archduchess. _

_She has always loved you in some fashion, Lotor._

_And that's what makes her a fool._

_She is no fool. She has been raised with the expectation of being your Queen. _

"Whatever happens, Sebastian, please do one thing." Plautilla's blue eyes shone with desperation.

"Name it, Plautilla, and it shall be done."

"Lotor could be very well like his father…cold and dead inside, incapable of love. If he is, don't let Sophie end up like me. Don't let Lotor make her into what Zarkon has made me: a lonely, useless thing he would wish away in a heartbeat."

"She won't, Plautilla," Sebastian promised, stroking her forehead. "She won't."

"I hope so, Sebastian. She has you. _You_ are her greatest champion."

"Lotor will be her champion as well," Sebastian said. "But you must have faith in him…"

_How odd to say, when I have as many doubts as you, dear cousin, _he thought, watching as relief smoothed the cares away from her face.

* * *

Sophie was on her way to Plautilla's rooms when she heard Lotor round the corner and call out her name. She turned to see what he wanted. He hurried to her side and took her hand. She let him lead her to the small alcove located at the end of the hallway.

"It's not the best time, I know," he said to her quickly, in response to the inquisitive look on her face, "but when I go to my father I want you to be there." He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a small velvet bag and placing it in her hands. "Open it, Sophie."

Sophie opened the bag, and when she peered in she gasped. "Jewels? Lotor…"

"Marry me, and I'll make you a Queen. _My_ Queen." He reached into the bag and retrieved the sparkling diamond and sapphire ring from it. "Say the word, Sophie, and I promise you I'll make the galaxy yours. You will be Queen, Queen of it all…"

"And Sebastian…?"

"Your brother is supportive of the match. My father may be the only obstacle, but then when he sees what a marriage to you might offer…" The knowing light came to Lotor's eyes and his lips curled into a smile. "He won't be able to refuse."

_Queen. Queen of it all._

"Yes," Sophie said. "Yes, I will marry you."

He took her left hand, slipping the ring onto the third finger. And then he bent to kiss her, cupping her face in both of his hands, as though she were something fragile that he might break if he handled her too roughly. It wasn't a chaste kiss, but it wasn't a torrid one, either. It seemed to be a dutiful kiss, or one in which he decided to only give her a taste of what passion lie within him. "I promise you," he said, "I'll take the whole of the galaxy and lay it at your feet. You will be their Queen, bright and shining, and they will love you and revere you."

She wondered…

She wondered if these were words that he had rehearsed in his mind over and over again in imagined scenarios in which the parvenue princess of Arus accepted his proposal of marriage.

_No matter. I shall be Queen, his Queen. And Allura of Arus will someday have to bow and scrape at my feet before she knows I will show her mercy. And I shall give him sons, sons to rule far and wide…_

* * *

The King was not pleased. Rather, he was incensed.

"You go to her brother before coming to me? You _ask her_ before coming to me?" Zarkon shouted, springing up from his throne. "Moreover, you _dare_ give her your mother's ring?"

Sophie flinched at this. It was as though Zarkon regarded her as little more than rubbish. Funny, he hadn't thought of it that way when Grandpapa was alive…

"The jewels were left to me, and I'll do what I please with them," Lotor answered evenly, still bent on one knee. "The marriage was arranged long ago, Father. _You_ have only delayed it. I thought you'd be thrilled at the prospect."

Zarkon glowered down at Lotor, and then at Sophie, who lowered her eyes. "Bah!" he exclaimed. "Have her as your wife. Let her bear you a brace of brats. She's much more suited to be Queen of the Drule Empire than Allura of Arus."

What was this? Was Zarkon capitulating?

But then the marriage had been arranged long ago. Sophie had been kept waiting, and Lotor had outmaneuvered his father. _This_ was what caused Zarkon so much consternation.

"Sophie. Dear, dear little Sophie!" Zarkon descended the steps of the dais, motioning for his son to rise. He beckoned Sophie to him, and she approached him slowly. He took her hand into his cold one and bent to kiss her on the forehead. "I'll be honored to have you as a daughter-in-law and as mother to my grandsons. As I told Lotor, you'll make a fine Queen."

"Majesty, thank you." Sophie bowed, pressing her forehead to the back of the King's hand. He relinquished his hold on her, and then he clapped his son on the shoulder.

"The marriage must take place at once," he ordered. "And in time, after…" _After the Queen has died and you Illyrians have mourned her._ "You'll have a grand wedding. No expense will be spared. The galaxy must know that Lotor chose _you_ as his wife and Queen. You will be…"

He paused, as though in deep thought. He licked his lips, showing pointed teeth. "They called you the Shooting Star when you were born," he resumed. "So you'll be _our _Shooting Star."

* * *

The marriage contract, much to Ancelin Fosco's delight, was signed. There was no disagreement when it came to the terms; even if Lotor succeeded in winning Allura of Arus, she would be concubine to Sophie's status as wife and Queen.

It all happened in a whirl. A priest was procured to perform the ceremony within twenty-four hours, not in any great hall, but at Plautilla's bedside. A simple white dress was made for Sophie, and Plautilla let Sophie choose which jewels she would wear from her own jewel case.

And then Lotor brought Haggar to Sophie's rooms.

Haggar seemed to sense Sophie's revulsion, but Lotor kissed Sophie's hand and entreated, "Listen to the witch, Sophie. She has much wisdom to impart upon a young bride-to-be. You will be thankful for it, my love."

_My love. How odd when you don't love me._

Haggar watched Sophie with green-black eyes as the Prince left. "Archduchess, or-soon to be-Crown Princess."

She grasped Sophie's hand. Sophie squirmed and pulled away, clutching the arms of her chair so tightly that her knuckles whitened.

"That's no way to behave, Archduchess, if you want my help in giving Prince Lotor sons."

Help? _Help? _"How could you help me? I see no way in which you could!"

The witch smiled, her withered cheeks puckering. "Your cousin Plautilla gave King Zarkon only daughters, and she lost his favor rather quickly. I am here to ensure that you give Lotor sons _as well as daughters_. Daughters can be good things. They can help weave peace."

"So he intends on many children?"

"More than one." Haggar lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "Your cousin is ill, and your mother is dead. Do you know what the wedding night and many nights after will entail?"

"I've an idea," Sophie replied honestly. _Because of what Plautilla told me about Zarkon._

"The Prince is nothing like his father," Haggar assured her. "He will be…tender and affectionate with you. You will be, after all, his wife, and in some cases, a husband must introduce his wife to what physical love is really about."

_Of course you'd know. Because you fucked his father._

"I've made potions," Haggar went on, "to ensure that the first child is a son. He will take some, and you will take some, and then he'll have you. And on your wedding night you'll make a son."

"How are you so sure of this?" Sophie asked her.

"I know these things," Haggar said, her eyes narrowing. She watched Sophie for some moments, picking at her coarse smock, and then she laughed. "Whatever illness Queen Plautilla has, I'm not the cause of it, nor is King Zarkon, if that's what's eating away at you."

Sophie started, and Haggar laughed again. "Don't you see, my interests are entwined with yours. Lotor's successes are our successes. Lotor's son will not only be his success, but ours. _Ours._" She reached for Sophie's hand. Sophie immediately pulled away.

"Have it your way, Archduchess," Haggar said, "but know that our interests depend on Lotor." She smiled her toothless smile and sauntered out of the room, leaving Sophie frightened and chilled.

* * *

The vows were exchanged at Plautilla's bedside, with King Zarkon, Sebastian, Ancelin Fosco, the princesses, Haggar, and Hortense present. Sophie now wore the diamond circlet that had belonged to Lotor's mother, the ring that had marked her as Zarkon's mistress. _Now it marks me her son's wife._

They partook of a small dinner, during which Lotor did his best to show that he was enamored of his new wife, whom he had known for half of his entire life. He kissed her tenderly on the mouth, and they drank wine from the same silver goblet. When the dinner was over they were conveyed not to his chambers, but hers.

The philters Haggar had prepared lay on Sophie's dressing table, each tagged with the appropriate name. He handed her the small bottle she was to partake of; she uncorked it and watched as Lotor did the same with his. He raised his bottle to her, and she raised hers so that both bottles clinked together. He smiled sardonically. "To us," he said, "and to destiny, whatever it may bring."

She downed the philter at the same time as he did, and she found that hers tasted of raspberries. It warmed the gullet, and soon she felt it coursing through her veins like fire. He took the bottle from her and laid both of them on the dressing table. He stroked her hair (_dark like mahogany_) and then bent to kiss her, crushing her to him.

He was a skilled lover, and brought her to bear a few times before entering her. There was some pain, but not much, and he took his time with her. He moved slowly, languorously, his eyes not leaving hers until he found his release, and she kissed him as he pulled out of her.

"Sophie. Have you always loved me, Sophie?" he asked her as he lie down beside her, wiping the sweat from his blue forehead and turning to her.

She hesitated. "When I was younger, I did. I thought you the most dashing, most handsome prince I had ever lain eyes upon, and I loved you because I thought it was going to be like the old tales, in which the lady fair married the knight true, but then…"

"But then?" he prompted, pulling her close to him.

"But then Grandpapa died. And your father stalled our marriage, and I hadn't seen you for some time since you were fighting under Yurak. Then you returned a few months ago, all in handsomeness and glory…and you were changed."

"Changed? How so?"

"You weren't the knight true I loved when we were young, when I was but thirteen and you seventeen. You've changed, Lotor, and so have I. I've found that there are no knights true or ladies fair. We are simply people, but people raised high, trying to find our way while governing those below us." She closed her eyes. "I know you are in love with-or infatuated with-the Arusian princess, that you would have her over me. But still you married me. And I want so much to love you, but…"

"But?" he prompted, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"But I won't end up like Plautilla. I will be mistress of my own fate and not let it break me."

"Sophie! I will never neglect you like my father did Plautilla. You will always mean something to me. I married _you _first. I will make you my Queen. Though there may be other wives, Allura among them, you will always be first in my heart."

She stroked his white hair and leaned to kiss him. "Then shall we try?"

"Of course, Sophie." He drew her to him, pulling the bedclothes up around them. "We shall try."

* * *

"Illyria? For a month?" Zarkon echoed incredulously.

"I'll be easy to reach, and it's not far from Doom. And my ships will be at the ready there." Lotor reached for Sophie's hand. "Don't you want a grandson?"

Zarkon stuttered, then rose, clutching his scepter tightly. "So you want a honeymoon, my son? Why didn't you just ask before you married Sophie?"

"We only thought of it last night." Lotor clenched his jaw. "Once Plautilla has passed…"

"Once she's buried in Illyria," Sophie added.

"We'll spend a month at the mountain villa. By the time we return, Sophie will be expecting your grandson."

Zarkon glared down at both of them. "Very well," he acquiesced. "But I expect you to be ready for battle at any moment, Lotor, _At any moment."_

Lotor nodded. "As you wish, Father," he replied.

The King grinned. "Now you two lovebirds have a wonderful time in Illyria. I hope you return expecting my grandson, Sophie."

And Sophie felt a shiver run up her spine at this.

"Don't let him bother you, Sophie," Lotor said as he crawled into bed beside her that night. "He's a fool. Anyone can see it. I will tell you now, I will be kinder to our sons than he has been to me."

"If you would like," Sophie ventured, reaching for him, "I'll be very kind to you right now, my love."

"How kind will you be?" he breathed as she straddled him.

"Do you want me to show you?"

"I'd like it very much."

She leaned down to kiss him, and this time, they didn't take the philters Haggar had prepared for them.


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," and all original characters are mine. Thanks for all of the input!**

**Chapter Five**

Plautilla died quietly with her daughters, Sebastian, and Sophie at her side within two days of the quiet wedding. The official cause of death given was fever and inflammation of the lungs that worsened into tuberculosis, but Sophie wasn't so sure of that conclusion. She apprised Lotor of these concerns as they readied for bed the following night. He frowned upon hearing this, and he looked up at her, his amber eyes glittering with...what? Anger? Fear? Curiosity?

"I have agents who can investigate and answer those questions for you," he told her honestly. "All you need to do, Sophie, is say the word and it will be done."

_What was this? _She put her hairbrush down and turned to face him. "You would do that...for _me_?"

"Not just for you, Sophie, but for my sisters...and even Sebastian." He smiled crookedly, rising from the chair he was sitting in and crossed the room to the stool she sat upon close to the dressing table. He knelt and took her hands into his and kissed them, and Sophie giggled and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his.

"You always know when to act the gallant knight, Lotor," she said, and he laughed and captured her lips with his. Sophie sighed contentedly and let her arms twine around his neck.

"My love," he breathed into her ear, "I promised to make you a Queen. And if you remember, you've always let me be your knight gallant and true, and if anything, allow me to do that."

"If you would do that," Sophie said as she reached down to stroke him, "then I would love you as we both would like."

"Haven't you always loved me in some way, Sophie?" he wondered, stilling her hand and looking up at her earnestly.

"Lotor, such a question to ask!" she exclaimed, but then she saw that he was serious. Well, then, she would be honest with him.

"I loved you when I was a child," she admitted, stroking his cheek. "But it has changed, Lotor...as have we..."

"We were very young," he assented. "But if you could love me, Sophie..."

"And yet such feelings would need to be reciprocated," Sophie replied. "As I've said, I want so much to love you, if you would let me, but I only ask that you would do the same."

"I'll endeavor to do that," he promised.

He was much more passionate this time, and he all but carried her to bed, where he made pleasure course throughout her, and in those moments, she believed every word he said.

Sophie liked that he would hold her after making love to her, but she detested that it seemed almost automatic with him, almost a reflex after having so many slave girls. But in his mind, it was, perhaps, an action most conducive to making a child, for if he did this, then she would come to him again, wanting more of him.

And yet it was still such a wonderful feeling to know that he was hers: her husband, her lord, and one day, her King. She had come to know every inch of him in the past few days: the hard planes of his chest, the smoothness of his skin, the way he liked to be touched, the spot on his neck that, when kissed a certain way, would set him afire. It seemed that now, with this, the tensions and uncertainties of the past few years had been swept aside, that they could begin anew, and know what roles each of them had in the marriage and, later, in the ruling of an empire.

"Tomorrow night," he said as his fingers lightly danced across her spine, "I want to have you in _my_ bed. I want to hear you crying out my name there as I claim you over and over again. I want to see you like this—sated and content—while tangled in my sheets."

"And what about the morning? I _will _have to dress."

"Can't your ladies-in-waiting and handmaidens simply bring your things to you in the morning?" he ventured, rolling on to his back, his eyes not leaving her.

She smoothed his hair back from his forehead, kissing it. "Oh, Lotor, you _are _persistent, if anything! Yes, they _can_ do that, and I'll very gladly warm the bed for you tomorrow."

He turned and kissed her then. "You won't regret your decision, Sophie."

"I've a feeling that with you, there are many things I won't regret," she said, laughing.

* * *

There had been a flurry of news from the intelligence sources on planet Doom, and Coran had been watching them carefully. Allura was kept up to date on each bit of information as it came in, and by default, the rest of the Voltron Force was, too.

The news of Lotor's marriage was a shock, yet it somehow didn't surprise Allura. Lotor was much more intelligent than many believed, and it was clear that, though he and his bride were related in some way and they had known each other since childhood, it was a strategic marriage. Lotor would have fleets of ships and a great fortune at his disposal, and his wife would give him an heir and enjoy the title of Queen someday.

The money wasn't the only thing that would have made the lady in question quite the catch. Sophie Beatrix Delphine Vasary of Illyria was the granddaughter of the last grand duke, who himself had been a very shrewd man and who had ensured a legacy for his grandchildren before his death. The Vasarys could boast of bloodlines going back to the Hapsburgs—who themselves were descended from Roman royalty—and the Romanovs, two old royal families on Earth. It was this that caused the Vasary family—and therefore the Illyrians—to think of themselves as something better than the other planets which had formally been Earth colonies. And it was this, among many other reasons, that had driven Fabian Vasary to seek out and cement an alliance with the Drule Empire.

And it wasn't as though Sophie didn't have personal attributes as well. From the pictures and renderings Allura had seen, it was evident that Sophie was very beautiful, and from what she had heard, it was evident that Sophie was very clever and accomplished as well. There was one thing that was certain: Sophie had a posture that would make Nanny proud, and Nanny had exhorted Allura to use the archduchess's pictures as an example during her own deportment lessons. Allura, of course, ignored this. There was much more to governing a kingdom than knowing how to walk, sit, and curtsy properly.

"They were married at the dying Queen's bedside," Coran told Allura. "Zarkon is less than thrilled with the timing of the match, but then the marriage contract had been signed long ago when Lotor was but eighteen and Sophie fourteen. Zarkon had simply been putting the marriage off, and Lotor decided to _honorably_'' - here he cleared his throat, for from what they had seen, Lotor was less than honorable – "obey the contract and marry the archduchess."

"But there's a lot of incentive for him to be _honorable_," Allura remarked, glancing again at the video feed that the Drule media had put out. "And isn't he friends with her brother?"

"More or less. It's difficult to ascertain Sebastian's allegiances. He's very self-contained. There are rumors, though, that he may seek the hand of your cousin, Romelle of Pollux. He sent her an exquisitely crafted parure of opals set in gold. If Romelle marries him, there is a chance that, under Drule inheritance laws, she could become a grand duchess. That is, if Zarkon officially cedes control of Illyria to Sebastian. After all, Sebastian rules it in all but name."

And this was something to be apprehensive of. "Do you think Zarkon would ever cede Illyria to Sebastian?"

"Princess Allura," Coran sighed, closing his eyes momentarily, "as we have seen, we can put nothing past Zarkon. For all we know, he could disinherit his son and name his dead wife's cousin as his heir. But Sebastian, it seems, has placed his bets on Lotor, if he has agreed to the marriage. That is more of a concern, for if Lotor ever becomes king..."

"If Lotor becomes king, and chooses to pursue me further..." she began.

"Yes, Princess?" Coran encouraged.

Illyrians. Proud, dangerous, cunning, willing to do anything to maintain whatever status they had in the Drule Empire. And once Zarkon was dead, they would rally to Sophie. Their Queen. And should Sebastian become Grand Duke of Illyria with Romelle as his wife and heir apparent to the throne of Arus...

"Then that could put me in great danger," she said, shivering.

* * *

Plautilla's body was embalmed and placed in her casket in the Illyrian fashion, and she lie in state a few evenings before Lotor and Sophie were to depart for Illyria so that all of the nobles could see her and pay their condolences.

Sophie crossed herself and said her prayers for Plautilla's soul in the fashion of the Illyrian church, and Palmira and Darya and Sebastian did the same. Lotor very smoothly followed Sophie's motions—it had always been an uncertainty as to what religion he followed, though it was apparent he adhered to the dominant one in the Drule Empire—but perhaps he was doing this to spare his sisters some sadness. He took Sophie's hand and led her to the front row of the hastily arranged seats, and the girls followed them obediently with Sebastian behind. They listened to the priest's litany as altar boys swung heavily scented censers in front of the Queen's coffin.

Sophie felt dizzy and clung to Lotor's arm, and he, being the ever dutiful husband, supported her as they walked past the open casket where the Queen's embalmed remains lie in state. Some of the Drule nobles watched speculatively, perhaps trying to determine whether her weakness was due to grief or the early stages of pregnancy.

_Poison. It must have been poison. Or magic. But whose magic? _

She put an arm around Palmira as the older princess burst into a fresh round of tears.

_And to think that I must leave them soon, all so that I might conceive a son and deliver what their mother could not._

If anything, she would not let Plautilla's daughters suffer. She would promise them that much. Because blood was everything.

"He has been kind to you?" Sebastian asked her as they sat in the corner of Zarkon's great hall.

"He has been very kind," Sophie replied, sipping at her wine. "He even asked me if I could grow to you love him."

"Do you believe that you could?" Sebastian gave his empty plate to a passing slave. "After all, you have seen the best and the worst of him and still agreed to marry him."

"I couldn't say that I've seen the worst of him, Sebastian," Sophie countered. "It's said that he saves that for battle. You would have seen more of it than I have. But I could grow to love him. After all, he has promised to make me his Queen."

"A fine Queen you shall be, sister dear," Sebastian murmured.

"And your courtship of the Polluxian princess, Sebastian? How is that?" Sophie said, changing the subject.

"She was thrilled about the parure," Sebastian replied. "She's no fool, Sophie. I think she understands that a marriage to the Illyrian archduke would not only guarantee her a high rank, but also a certain amount of protection from whatever designs the Drule Empire might have on Pollux. No doubt her papa knows this, too."

"I've heard that her papa is very indulgent of her whims. Would you be so, Sebastian?"

"I would think that the influence of my most charming, accomplished sister would bring her some polish."

"Dearest Sebastian," Sophie said, taking his hand, "you overestimate whatever influence I would have over the exquisite Romelle! Admit it: You would indulge her and keep her happy as you do your hounds and horses."

"Do you expect your own husband to treat you in such a way?" Sebastian queried.

Sophie smiled at him. "I'm sure he will, to some extent. Sebastian." Here she lowered her voice. "He only told me to say the word, and he would use his own agents to discover the truth behind Plautilla's death."

"And did you say the word?" Sebastian whispered.

"I've yet to say it. I wanted to speak with you about it first."

"By all means, say the word! Lotor may be a bit...mercurial...but when it has come to our family, he has always kept his promises. Say the word and hold him to his promise."

Sophie nodded.

"My greatest concern at this time, though, is for Palmira and Darya," Sebastian went on. "Without their mother, there is no one to watch out for their interests—except for us. As their cousin and now Crown Princess, it would only be right and proper for you to take them under your wing. While you're in Illyria, I will have Hortense see to them. Upon your return, she will then defer to you. Fosco will speak to the King on the matter, and you also ought to mention it to Lotor."

"I will speak of it tonight," Sophie promised, and Sebastian placed his hand on his sister's shoulder.

"I know he will listen to you about Palmira and Darya. If he holds anything dear, it is them," he told Sophie.

They were interrupted by the approach of Lotor, who sought to introduce Sophie to some of the Drule nobles as his wife and their new Crown Princess. Some seemed to regard her with some distaste, others with curiosity, and still others with admiration. Yes, they had already begun to accept that she would be their next Queen. And they were already beginning to pay her court.

* * *

"You spent some time with your brother," Lotor remarked, going into the bathroom after he had pulled away from Sophie.

Sophie sat up, running her fingers through her mussed hair. "Yes, we spoke for some time concerning Palmira and Darya."

"You're concerned about them?" he said.

"Sebastian is most concerned with their upbringing, as I'm sure you are." She watched him as he came out of the bathroom and sat down on the bed beside her. "Were we in Illyria," she began, "the decisions in their upbringing would fall to me, as I'm their closest woman cousin. But since I'm also married to you, and you're their brother, wouldn't it only be proper that it should fall to me as well? Particularly since your father is so indifferent to them."

He furrowed his brow for a moment. "Sebastian spoke to you and not to _me_ about this?"

"It simply came up in our conversation. He knew that I would ask you about it, and he told me that Fosco will be approaching your father about it tomorrow. We're only concerned because we love Palmira and Darya so, and we know you love them just as much. Fosco only is going to your father about it as a representative of our family and Illyria." She reached over and took his hand into hers, kissing it.

"And you think I ought to go to my father about this, as well?" he posited, running his free hand through her hair.

"I think that you should, since you're their brother and have their best interests at heart, unlike your father."

He lie down beside her, his amber eyes narrowing. "So you intend to keep them under the protective wing of the Illyrian house of Vasary? Or would you say that we are _both_ keeping them under the protective wings of our houses?"

"I would say the latter. You are their brother, and much nobler than your father. You will see that they have the best of everything, and Sebastian and I will be there to ensure that it happens."

"You have such ideas of me, Sophie!" he said. "How many of them are still the dreams of a little girl?"

"None of them," she said.

He smiled up at her. "Sweet, dear Sophie! Always thinking of your family first!"

She lie down beside him, turning off the light. "And do you remember what you said last night, about looking further into Plautilla's death?"

"Of course I do." He pulled her close to him, kissing the tip of her nose.

"Have your agents do it," she said, and he drew away for a moment, his face growing grave.

"And what if they discover the truth, and if it's something you don't want to know?" he asked her.

"I don't care. Once we've discovered the truth, we can dispense whatever justice we wish."

He stroked her cheek. "As my lady commands," he said before kissing her good night.

* * *

Sophie awoke with a start late in the night. Lotor's bedroom was deadly quiet, and she glanced down at him. He was sound asleep with his back to her.

But crying. She was certain she had heard the sound of a woman crying.

She rose from the bed and reached for her dressing gown, wrapping it around her as she entered the sitting room. The sound grew a little louder, and it seemed to be coming from the hallway outside. Sophie crossed the sitting room and then passed through the anteroom. She came to the doorway and stood for a moment, listening to the sobs. She steeled herself and opened the door.

The crying stopped.

But the hallway was dark...and empty.

She closed the door. How could that be? She had very plainly heard a woman crying in the hallway, and yet there was no one in the hallway.

"Sophie." She heard Lotor calling for her. He'd turned on the bedroom light, and he stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. "Why are you up?"

Sophie went to him, plastering a contrite smile on her face. "I'm sorry; I was wakeful. I'm not yet accustomed to sleeping in your bed."

He drew her to him, kissing her on the forehead. "Come back to bed," he murmured, and Sophie let him lead her back into the bedroom. She was soon able to fall back to sleep, but she was certain of one thing.

She had not been asleep, dreaming, when she had heard the weeping woman.


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine. Thanks for the reviews—they are greatly appreciated! **

**House of Cards**

**Chapter Six**

The King invited Sebastian to his chambers after supper. Sebastian had no wish to go, but Fosco urged him to do so. "The King seems to think highly of you," Fosco said. "Even more highly than his own son. Use this to your advantage."

So Sebastian went to the King's chambers as instructed, and the King seemed pleased to see him. They played a few games of cards, at which Sebastian let the King win. He would prefer to part with a few coins of gold and silver than risk the King's ire. And Zarkon seemed pleased that he had won some money off of Sebastian, but then he grew bored, at which Sebastian suggested backgammon.

"You've not let me win at this," Zarkon remarked acidly, gesturing for more wine. Sebastian placed his hand over his glass to indicate that he wished for none.

"Sire," Sebastian said, "this is a game of skill and chance. Perhaps skill is my strong point."

"Perhaps." Zarkon rolled his dice, then made his move. "So I hear you're courting Romelle of Pollux?"

"Courting," Sebastian confirmed.

"You love her?"

"I'm not certain. This is why, in Illyria, we men woo our beloveds. This is why my parents' match was successful."

"How would you know, Sebastian?" Zarkon snickered.

Yes. The skirmish. The death. "My maternal grandparents are still alive, Sire, as is my aunt Tatiana, the duchess of Tyrol. They tell us much about our parents."

"Yes, your Aunt Tatia." Zarkon grinned. "She found me to be quite...revolting."

"Aunt Tatia is of the old Illyrian ways. You must forgive her disdain."

"I forgave it long ago, Sebastian." The King leaned back in his chair. "But now we need to talk of more important things. Your sister, to be precise."

_Sophie. _"Majesty, my sister is of pure and noble intention..."

"Of that, I'm sure. She's a pretty face who utters many pretty words, but nonetheless, she looked wonderful on my son's arm, didn't she?" Zarkon pulled up the news feed to show the footage of Lotor and Sophie wandering down the main corridor after the hasty wedding, Lotor in full military regalia and Sophie in that simple white silk dress with her hair loose and tumbling down her back. "I'm beginning to think that this marriage is a good move for my son."

"And why do you think so, Sire?" Sebastian ventured cautiously.

Zarkon made a move. "She understands what it means to be a queen, and not just any queen, but Queen of Planet Doom. Once she grows to understand what influence she would be able to have, she could help to make this kingdom even greater."

"And how would you propose she do that, Sire?"

"Once Sophie rises to the throne at Lotor's side, Doom will have had two Illyrian queens. There are some traditions my dearly departed wife brought with her that I like. And I want Sophie to continue them in Plautilla's stead."

"How soon?"

"As soon as she and my son have returned from their honeymoon."

Illyria. What did Illyria mean to Zarkon? Power. Tradition. Wealth. Something established. Something that lasted and that would endure.

_A dynasty. He wishes to create a dynasty and bring Illyria into the fold._

The King handed the dice to Sebastian. "Your roll, Archduke. Or, would you prefer Grand Duke?"

Sebastian almost dropped the dice. "Your Majesty, you certainly don't mean to..." he began.

Zarkon cut him off with a wave of the hand. "The rank was my wife's, and it came to me through marriage. I can follow either Illyrian or Drule laws, and I choose to follow Drule inheritance laws. The position is yours, Sebastian, by right. You are the Illyrian Grand Duke. I'll sort out the details in the morning." He picked up his goblet again and took another sip of wine. "Go ahead. Roll the dice. It's your turn."

_Roll the dice. And take whatever chances you can._

* * *

"Grand Duke?" Fosco exclaimed when Sebastian told him of this new development. "He has made you Grand Duke?"

"He said that the position was his through marriage, and mine by right."

"Ah, he's a sly one, that snake!" Fosco declared, stifling a yawn. "And you, look at you! He's gotten you as drunk as he normally is!"

Sebastian staggered a bit, then caught his balance on the chair in Fosco's sitting room. "He told me that he would take care of the details in the morning...Do you think he'll remember, Ancelin?"

Fosco laughed. "Your Grace, Zarkon adores you more than his own son! I would take it as a compliment, but you must ensure that he allows Lotor his birthright if only for Sophie's sake."

"And the princesses?"

"They are princesses and already have a rank. The Vasary blood in their veins and their ties to Illyria through you and Sophie will make them prime catches. After all, it is now Zarkon's title, and he shall dispense it as he sees fit."

Sebastian slumped into the chair, passing his hand over his forehead. "There is something else," he muttered, closing his eyes as the pain in his head from consuming too much wine clouded his vision.

"My valet shall see you back to your rooms, Your Grace. But tell me: What is the other thing?"

"A dynasty, Fosco. He wishes to create a dynasty. With my sister bearing his son's heir, and all that is Illyrian entwined with all that is Doom."

He thought he saw Fosco's eyes narrow in speculation. "So I see," Fosco murmured. "Your Grace, I must implore you to retire to bed, and we shall talk more of it in the morning. I would like to speak with the King and then with the Ar—_Crown Princess_ Sophie and her husband. Until tomorrow..."

"Yes," Sebastian murmured. "Until tomorrow..."

* * *

There was much giggling and giddiness among Sophie and her ladies as they assisted her with her toilette in Lotor's rooms. Hortense had them bring three dresses down—none of them pink, she noted with some relief, though there was only _one_ that was pink, and that was safely in her chambers. Lotor, who had been in his sitting room reviewing some documents for a little while, entered his bedroom to find Sophie's ladies pulling her stays and then fastening her corset. Sophie moved to one of the armchairs and sat down on it, applying her cosmetics for the day as Celia held a mirror in front of her face.

"Your brother is here for breakfast, Sophie," he announced, taking her hand and kissing it. There was much sighing among the two younger ladies, and Hortense glanced at them so that they would cease their tittering.

"Lotor," Sophie said, taking both of his hands in hers, and he looked up at her curiously. "I'm afraid I'm at a loss as to which gown to wear. Perhaps you could assist?"

Lotor glanced at each gown, and he finally settled on the red one with slim gold stripes upon it. He seemed a little exasperated at this, but Sophie was pleased that she might look lovely just for him. Her ladies pinned some of her hair back with pearl- and ruby-studded clips, and she soon entered the sitting room where a lovely breakfast of crusty bread, eggs scrambled with cheese, a few rashers of bacon, anda bowl of chocolate awaited her. She was delighted and smiled at Lotor, and he returned it and pulled the chair out for her so that she could sit and eat. Sebastian, who looked a trifle pale this morning, was reading through the news feed. "Well, Lotor, it seems as though the marriage has made headlines!" he said. "Already there is speculation about whether or not Sophie is expecting a child! No matter, they'll get their wish for a child quite soon."

Lotor buttered his bread as he stared at Sebastian composedly. "Not a child. A son."

Sebastian laughed. "What shall you do if Sophie gives you a daughter?"

Lotor seemed insulted, and he all but glared at Sebastian. "If it's a daughter, then it only proves Sophie is fertile. And daughters are good for alliance marriages." He focused on his food. "And you look green about the gills, Sebastian. What ails you?"

Sebastian smiled, taking some fried potatoes for himself. "Your father invited me to his chambers after you both retired, Lotor. We played cards, and then backgammon..."

"You must have beat him, Sebastian. Or else he wouldn't have gotten you so drunk," Lotor remarked as he peeled his hard-boiled egg. "That's one thing he _can_ beat you at—his tolerance for alcohol."

"Lotor, really!" Sophie said laughingly She wouldn't have her new husband mocking her brother, or her brother mocking her husband, for then who would stop them from fighting?

"Oh, no, he beat me and I parted with some coinage, but nothing to be concerned about. You see, Lotor, I am now the Illyrian Grand Duke," Sebastian said.

Lotor stopped eating for a moment, and Sophie could have sworn that she saw his eyes harden. "Well, imagine that! My father had been keeping that title aside. It's nice to know that he could appoint someone _dependable _to rule Illyria. For really, you did it all but in name."

"Sebastian will make a very fine Grand Duke, my love," Sophie said sweetly, placing her hand on his forearm. "You are, after all, the Crown Prince. We will have to rule over a grand kingdom..."

"Of course, dearest. A grand kingdom." Lotor pointedly returned to whatever documents he'd been reviewing, and Sebastian handed Sophie the tablet so that she could see the headline. She scrunched up her nose at the words "shotgun wedding" and gave the tablet back to Sebastian.

"Those Terran magazines are ridiculous," she opined. "And look at this! 'The Drule Empire's most desirable bachelor is now off the market.' Really, it's such nonsense." She set the tablet aside. Lotor picked it up, skimmed over the article, and chuckled.

"Our marriage," he said to Sophie, "has made the front page. My father has turned this into a public relations campaign."

Of course Zarkon would do such a thing. He wished to make it clear that there were changes occurring within the Drule Empire, and that it was becoming a force to be reckoned with. And then he had just elevated Sebastian to the position of Grand Duke.

Lotor had made his move with the marriage. Zarkon was taking his turn and only increasing the odds and the stakes. And where would it all end?

* * *

"Sebastian and I believe that Zarkon is using the marriage to his advantage," Ancelin Fosco said quietly as they watched Palmira and Darya at their art lesson with their governess.

"Have you spoken to Lotor regarding this?" Sophie asked, making a show of reviewing the itinerary for the appearances she and Lotor would have to make in Illyria during the honeymoon.

"Your Highness, I thought it better to speak of it with you before going to the Crown Prince. He can be quite...unreceptive to what others might have to say about things." Fosco inclined his head with a twitch of the lips.

Sophie glanced up at the princesses, who sat on one of the stone benches, bent over their sketchbooks, while their governess briefly described some of the fauna around them. This hothouse garden had been built not for Plautilla, but for Lotor's mother. It had been neglected after the unfortunate woman's death until Zarkon had married Plautilla. As a young bride, Plautilla had had the garden restored to something close to its former glory, but had also incorporated certain things she had wanted, like a water garden and a wildflower garden, and a few fruit trees and plants arranged neatly to create a sort of avenue. The girls had played here since they were very young, and it was, Sophie thought, good to let them spend some time in a place that only held happy memories of their mother.

"If you would like me to persuade him to speak with you, I'm sure I can do so," Sophie told Fosco. "It may be better to discuss this at length while we're in Illyria."

"Illyria is, I fear, part of the King's grand designs," Fosco whispered to Sophie. He narrowed his heavy-lidded eyes, then continued. "Your brother spoke to him last night, and Zarkon was quite frank with his plans to bring Illyria further into the fold and to create some sense of tradition..."

"Tradition?" Sophie echoed, her mind beginning to whirl at the thousand possibilities of what tradition meant to Zarkon. "Pageantry?"

"Zarkon hasn't much of a use for pageantry. He did, say, though, according to Sebastian, that he would have you continue Plautilla's..._tradition_ of sitting below the dais in the throne room and hearing grievances and petitions. In his words, it will help to establish you as Crown Princess."

Sophie set down the tablet she had been perusing and turned to face Fosco. "You mean, it will establish me as something separate from my husband. Should the Crown Prince fall, whatever children I have will be Zarkon's heirs, and he shall have me along with them as a sort of figurehead for Illyria..."

"I wouldn't put such a thing past him," Fosco said, "but we must remember the witch."

_The witch. _"Haggar?"

"She could be a very valuable ally."

Sophie shook her head fiercely. "No, Prime Minister Fosco, I _will not_ risk anything more with her than I already have..."

"Risk? Sophie, you have risked nothing with her. Why, she has only done what she can to help you ensure that the needed heir will be born. In her way, she has cast her lot with Illyria."

"In her way?" Sophie scoffed. "And how has she done so _in her way_?"

Fosco grew stern, his green eyes hardening. "Each defeat of one of her robeasts places her closer to the fate she dreads—that of being useless. In this instance, you must stop acting like a child and you must begin acting more like the Queen you have been raised to be. You must endeavor to be benevolent to her. In doing this, you will not only be pleasing your husband and your brother, but you will only be helping them. Do you see now?"

Sophie turned her attention back to the tablet with flushed cheeks. Yes, trust Fosco to scold her, and quietly, too, so that no one else might hear. The witch _had_ insisted that Plautilla's death wasn't her fault, nor had Zarkon ordered it, but Haggar was also very cunning and had no problem with dissembling to achieve whatever purpose she had in mind.

_And neither do I,_Sophie thought, looking up at Fosco. _At least, I don't believe so. _He had absorbed himself with communications from Illyria on his own tablet. "Prime Minister Fosco."

He turned his face up to hers, his expression betraying nothing. "Yes, Your Highness?"

"You _are _right, you know," Sophie began, "regarding Haggar. I shall endeavor to be kind to her, and to accept whatever help she may offer."

Fosco smiled gently, taking her hand. "I knew that you would see the importance of it, Your Highness. Your husband will be very pleased with you."

"You forget, Prime Minister, that my husband is already quite pleased with me." And she bade him good afternoon, after which he stood and bowed to her before she went to see what the princesses had drawn.

* * *

"My father has officially ceded Illyria to Sebastian and made him a Grand Duke," Lotor reported as they took dinner in her rooms that evening. "Now he's planning some elaborate ceremony that will occur when we return from Illyria." He poured himself some more wine and sipped at it thoughtfully. "He seems very eager to raise Sebastian to a rank almost equal to my own."

"He is the King," Sophie reminded Lotor. "The rank came to him as part of his marriage to Plautilla, and he is able to pass it on to whomever he wishes."

"That's true," Lotor acknowledged. "And it may be beneficial for us in the long term."

He was very careful to dance around the words, but Sophie knew what he meant and nodded. "Of course," she replied. "You've seen the itinerary for our honeymoon?"

He nodded, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I have. Why are there so many engagements and appearances in the Capitol?"

"So that the dukes and lords might pledge their fealty to their Crown Prince."

"Yes, but the public appearances. I see Fosco arranged all of those." Lotor frowned. "There are almost too many of them."

Sophie reached across the table to take his hand. "Lotor, the people in Illyria admire and respect you. It's your duty to maintain these things by appearing before the crowds."

"Fosco said the same thing," Lotor told her, laughing.

"He did?" Sophie said incredulously. Imagine Fosco—cajoling Lotor!

He nodded. "But I'll follow the advice as you gave it," he added, and this caused Sophie to laugh.

**So Zarkon has begun to make his move and use the situation to his advantage. No doubt Sebastian's elevation to Grand Duke of Illyria will be a cause of conflict and suspicion between him and Lotor. Also, Sophie can be rather judgmental and petulant, can't she? Please remember to leave your reviews below! Thank you!**


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine.**

**House of Cards**

**Chapter Seven**

They were to set off for Illyria the a few days later aboard the flagship of Lotor's fleet. Some new dresses were commissioned for Sophie, so that she might look every inch the Crown Princes and wife she had just become instead of the young lady-in-waiting she had been. She spent the morning with the seamstresses before she was to go horseback riding with the princesses that afternoon.

There were two things that she needed to accomplish before she and Lotor left for Illyria: one, making amends of some kind of Haggar, and two, seeing that the King had assigned her the duty of overseeing the princesses' upbringing. Of the two, each would acquire some effort on her part. With Haggar she would need to swallow her pride and make some sort of attempt at kindness, whereas she may need to wheedle and flatter the King when it came to her cousins. She decided that she would see Haggar first; offering her some kind of courtesy would be easier than any sort of conversation with the King.

Haggar's laboratory was located in the bowels of the castle, and the rooms and levels it occupied were part of the original structure. Sophie went down there alone, advising her ladies-in-waiting that it was a private matter and that the Crown Prince had been prevailing upon her to see the witch for some time. As she meandered her way through the meandering corridors, she steeled herself and her fear slowly dissipated. There was nothing to be frightened of; Lotor would only think she had gone to Haggar for some counsel as to how she might quickly conceive, though, really, there was nothing to be done right now. It would be too early to tell if she _had_ conceived, and her period wasn't due for another few weeks.

She pushed the button that sounded the chime in Haggar's laboratory, and the doors opened of their own accord. She cautiously stepped in, taking in the gloom of the surroundings about her. The foyer of the laboratory wasn't as poorly lit as Zarkon's throne room, though the fixtures above emitted a ghostly white light that added a certain gloom to everything. At one end of the main room stood a work table. All sorts of bottles and tubes littered one end of it, and something bubbled away in a beaker heated by a flame whose source Sophie couldn't see. There were two or three jars filled with what looked to be dried herbs and other ingredients, though another held a viscous black ooze with some dead white things floating within it. The still room was off to the left, and Sophie could see through the doorway in front of her the main part of the laboratory, the one that occupied many levels and held many different gadgets and machines. This was where Haggar created her robeasts, where some more disobedient slaves had met their ends as she experimented on them to perfect the process. Plautilla had detested that this occurred in her home, but then she was beholden to the King her husband, and there was nothing to be done but try to intercede and save as many as she could.

Sophie gasped when she heard the low growl of a cat, and she saw the glowing eyes of Haggar's cat as it emerged from its hiding place. It hissed and spat at Sophie. Haggar, who must have heard this, emerged from the still room and picked up the cat. "Naughty thing!" she scolded, almost tenderly. Sophie watched as the cat settled contentedly into its mistress's arms, its eyes glowing yellow like a specter's. Haggar caressed the cat's blue fur, and then the yellow crest on its head that made it look like a demon.

"Princess Sophie," Haggar said, bowing. "I'm humbled that you've decided to grace me with your presence." Sophie thought that she could detect a note of irony in the witch's tone, but she decided to ignore it. "And what's the purpose of this unexpected visit?"

Sophie watched as Haggar put the cat down. "I've come to thank you for how you've been assisting the Prince and myself."

"Well, imagine that!" Haggar went back into the still room, beckoning for Sophie to follow. "And you're thanking me on _his_ behalf, too!"

Sophie was perplexed at this. "So Lotor has yet to thank you or offer a reward in return for your services?"

"Seeing Lotor take the throne and pass it on to his sons is enough of a reward," Haggar quipped as she bound some freshly picked plants together and hung them up so that they could dry.

"So there has been nothing?" Lotor should have offered Haggar _something_, an incentive or some coin or some promise of _something_. But then just being allowed to continue her work would be enough of an incentive in Lotor's eyes. So long as Haggar was able to achieve some kind of result, then that was enough to keep her around. And with such mercurial men as Lotor and Zarkon, there was little security even in that.

"And what would you offer me, Princess?"

"A place in my household, if things ever grew grim for you. Or retirement of some kind. You could even practice your...craft if you so wished."

"And where would this retirement be? In a nice little cottage in Illyria, with a large garden so that I'd be able to grow herbs and simples to help ease ailments?"

"If you so wished. I'm sure Lotor would be open to a great many things."

The old witch inclined her head. "You think he would?" she said amusedly.

"I'm sure he would, particularly if things fall in his favor. It seems you have cast your lot with him."

"Let me tell you something, Your Royal Highness," Haggar said, picking the leaves off of what appeared to be a dried sage plant and putting them into a mortar. "I have no loyalties."

"Yet you seemed so eager to help Lotor and me conceive, despite my..."

"Despite your repugnance of me?" Haggar finished for her, picking up the pestle and grinding the leaves with it. "I've grown used to repugnance, Princess. I only help Prince Lotor because it benefits my interests, and there are times when catering to King Zarkon benefits me, too. So you see, I have no loyalties, except to my own interests."

Sophie followed her back into the foyer as she carried the mortar and pestle to the work table. "I only offer this because you have helped us so much already, and because it seems that you have cast your lot with Lotor and me."

"Pretty words. But sincere words." She seemed to contemplate for a moment as she finished crushing the dried leaves to a powder, and then she turned to Sophie. "But your offer is a tantalizing one. I'll take it under advisement."

"I'm pleased to hear that." Sophie turned on her heel to leave, but then she heard Haggar call out to her.

"And now that you've made an offer to help me, Princess, I'll do the same for you. Particularly since it concerns something—or _someone_ that you fear most."

Sophie whirled to face her. How could the witch have known? How could Haggar have seen that fear, kept covered under so many protective layers, buried deep within her own heart?

"You know who _and_ what it is you fear," Haggar went on. "You know that Lotor's infatuation with Princess Allura of Arus hasn't cooled. And you fear that if he's ever able to win her, she'll supplant you, even become Queen."

"I _do_ fear this," Sophie confessed. "But he wouldn't dare let her supplant me...would he?"

Haggar shook her head. "You're right about that. No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't let Allura supplant you, particularly when he would have so much to lose. He risked much to go through with the marriage, and he's gained much from it. He wouldn't be so stupid that he'd throw it away. But it doesn't mean that he wouldn't make Allura—or any wives after her—queens as well."

Sophie felt her cheeks redden with chagrin at hearing this. She clenched her fists to keep her hands from trembling. "I don't want to be _a _queen!" she exclaimed. "I want to be _the _queen!"

Haggar turned to her, smiling. "And this is how I'll help _you_. Since you offer me so much for helping you and Lotor, I've decided to give you a little more help."

"And how will you do this?" Sophie asked her, going to her side.

"You may not be first in his heart, but I can ensure that you're first in everything else." Haggar reached for one of the jars of herbs on the work table. "So instead of being _a_ queen, you'll be _the_ queen." She glanced up at Sophie. "Unless you want to be first in his heart as well..."

Sophie shook her head. "No, you needn't do that. I knew what I was stepping into when I married him. It wasn't a marriage for love."

"You're wise, then, not to let love cloud your judgment."

"One must be pragmatic when one desires greatness," Sophie replied soberly.

Haggar crossed the room and went to her bookshelf, and she picked out a book and opening it, returned to the table. "And who said that?"

"My grandfather."

"He must have been a very wise man. Now I see where you get that from."

* * *

It was a potion to further assist with not conceiving just any child, but a son.

"You'll be first in his esteem, at least, if you conceive and conceive quickly. That is what _this_ is for. Take a pinch of it and steep it in water to make a tisane. Drink it before the Prince comes to you, and drink it each night before the Prince comes to you."

Sophie turned the words over and over in her head as she rode her palfrey beside Palmira's and Darya's ponies. Yes, soon Palmira would be ready for a palfrey; she would have to see the King about that and have Sebastian choose one of his own horses—perhaps a mare—for that. Sebastian had commandeered Lotor's charger, a present given to him by Grand Duke Fabian a few years ago, with the Prince's blessing.

"This isn't like riding back home," Sebastian remarked as he raised his face to look back at the glass dome surrounding the man-made meadow and woods around them. "There's no sense of...openness."

"Palmira and Darya seem to appreciate it," Sophie reminded Sebastian.

"Palmira and Darya aren't even permitted to ride that far from the property back home in Illyria."

"Nonetheless, they still enjoy it, as they can wander about it as they please."

"Which means everything to a child." Sebastian patted the charger on the flank. "And now your husband approaches us on foot!"

"He doesn't look too pleased."

"Of course he doesn't. The King is sending him out to one of the godforsaken border planets because the resistance is to rendezvous with Voltron. Didn't the King promise not to send him out on any more military ventures for awhile?"

"While we were on honeymoon in Illyria." Sophie clicked her tongue and made her horse canter toward Lotor to meet him halfway. He was dressed in full armor, and when the horse stopped he came to her side.

"So your brother has told you?" he said, glancing at Sebastian.

"Yes, he has, Lotor. I never thought that the King would send you out now..."

Lotor's eyes narrowed. "It doesn't matter now. If I can return to you victorious, it will be worth it." He placed his hand on her thigh, squeezing it through the black skirt of her riding habit. "Now come down from your horse, my love, and kiss me before I leave as a proud wife should."

Sophie laughingly dismounted from her horse, letting Lotor help her down. He drew her close and kissed her passionately on the mouth before pressing his lips gently to her forehead. "I want to return and find you in my bed tomorrow morning," he said to her softly, "and I'll make up for my night away."

Sophie smiled up at him, placing her hands on his cheeks. "A night isn't a terribly long time," she said. "I only wish that you return to me." She kissed him once more. "And you look very handsome in your armor, my lord Prince."

"I'll return to you in one piece, Sophie," he promised, and then he turned to his sisters to say good-bye to them. Darya exclaimed over how tall his helmet was, and Palmira asked him when he was returning. He answered their questions as brightly as he could, for it seemed that he knew his father was sending him into defeat intentionally, perhaps to make him look incompetent to the Illyrian nobles before he went away on his honeymoon. It made her angry on his behalf; Zarkon had no right to do such a thing, particularly since they had only been married a little over a week and were due to leave soon.

* * *

She spent the rest of the day with Palmira and Darya, patiently helping them as they practiced both the harp and pianoforte, then taking supper with them in their chambers. When it was time for them to go to bed, she kissed them both good night and returned to her own chambers so that she could make the preparations to sleep in her husband's bed tonight.

She took the tisane before retiring, and as she lie down she realized how big his bed was, quite more so than her own. She _did_ miss him, she thought as she moved closer to his side of bed to breathe in the scent of him that remained on his pillow. They hadn't slept apart since the day they had been married, and while it was something that she knew she must grow accustomed to eventually, she hadn't expected it to be so soon.

And then she heard the sound of the woman sobbing again.

She sat bolt upright in bed, and she quickly climbed out of it and put on her dressing gown and slippers. She tiptoed through the bedroom and sitting room to the anteroom, and she very quietly opened the door. The hallway was dark, save for the lights that shone dimly from the ceiling. Still, Sophie could hear the woman weeping, and it tore at her heart. She stepped into the hallway, following the noise of the crying. She turned the corner, and the weeping grew louder.

And she couldn't believe what she saw.

The weeping woman was pacing up and down the hallway, wringing her hands. She stopped at the end of the hallway, and then she turned and paced toward Sophie.

She was pale, and her golden hair had come loose from the pins that held it. She wiped the tears from her eyes, and when she looked up, Sophie could see that they were a startling shade of cornflower blue that matched her gown. But even more startling, there were large, livid bruises around her neck, as though someone had tried to strangle her or had at least gripped it tightly. Sophie stepped forward to address her, but the words didn't leave her lips when she saw that the woman was not solid, that she could see the shadow of the wall through the woman's form.

Sophie felt her gorge rise and ran back to the Lotor's chamber as quickly as she could. She made for the bathroom, where she fell upon her knees in front of the toilet and vomited. Shaking, she sat back, taking her hands off of the porcelain bowl, and she wiped the tears that had gathered in her eyes.

She heard the chamber door open and close, and the sound of Lotor's boots on the parquet floor in between the carpets.

"Sophie?" he called out, stepping into the bedroom and turning on the light. When he saw her sitting down beside the toilet in the bathroom, he hurried to her and knelt down beside her, still clad in his armor. "Sophie! Are you all right?"

Sophie nodded, letting him help her up and lead her to the sink so she could rinse her mouth and clean her teeth again. He flushed the toilet for her, and once she was done at the sink, she turned to him, letting him pull her close to him. "I'm sorry," she stammered out. "I..."

"Say no more about it," he told her quietly, watching her as she climbed back into bed. "If you're sick again, I'll send for your handmaid to take you to your own room. For now, try to sleep."

She heard him return to the sitting room, where he said something to his valet, and then he returned to the bedroom. He showered and got ready for bed, and she was thankful when he finally climbed in bed beside her. He lie still for a moment, but when she reached for him, he put an arm around her and drew her close.

"Sophie," he ventured.

"Yes?" she murmured.

"Could you be...?" He didn't finish the question, and she sighed.

"It would be too early for those signs. We won't know if I am or not for another week or so." She felt him stroking her hair. "Were you victorious?"

"No, I wasn't. Father, of course, will be furious, but then we should never have attacked without a better robeast prototype. And the blame for that lies with Haggar." He grew silent again, as though he were contemplating something. "I'm yours now, Sophie, not anyone else's. I hope you know that."

"I do."

"I'll do everything in my power to make you happy. I...I want to love you, Sophie, and for you

to love me. And I promise you, I'll be a better father to our children than mine was..."

"I know. I know all of those things. Could we just sleep for now, Lotor, and talk of this tomorrow?" she asked him, rolling over to her side.

"Of course, my love." His voice grew oddly tender. "We'll talk about it tomorrow." He pressed a kiss to her temple as she drifted into sleep.

**In the next chapter, they'll _finally_ be leaving for Illyria, which means more political maneuvering and intriguing. And we also get to meet Sophie's maternal grandmother, who I modeled after Maggie Smith as Lady Violet in "Downton Abbey." But I had to get some angst and intriguing with Haggar into this chapter!**


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine. Thanks for all of the reviews! I'm pleased you're continuing to enjoy this!**

**House of Cards **

**Chapter Eight**

Sophie was certain that her sudden attack of sickness was not from what Haggar had given her, nor some virus or something that she had eaten, but from seeing the ghost of Lotor's mother. Had Plautilla seen her, too? Had the woman appeared to them both as some kind of portent of something terrible that would come to pass?

Lotor stirred beside her, and she bent to kiss him. He welcomed it with an ecstatic moan and gazed up at her with eyes clouded with lust as she broke the kiss to move closer to him.

"You're happy I've come home to you, my love?" he asked her as she lie down beside him.

"My lord husband, I shall always delight in your homecomings whether or not you're victorious," Sophie breathed, pulling him to her.

* * *

Lotor seemed to be inwardly seething at his father; the King had been remarking on Lotor's failure all day. Sophie was perched on Plautilla's old seat and heard the entire thing, and she felt anger in her own heart on her husband's behalf. The rest of the Drule court kept stealing glances at her, trying to gauge how she was reacting to the whole scene. She straightened, keeping her face impassive. No, she wouldn't let them—wouldn't let_ Zarkon—_see that she despised him so much at this moment, more so than she ever had in her life. And there had been plenty of moments of that.

Soon Lotor was bidden to rise, and he bowed and gave the King a formal farewell. He then approached Sophie, who stood up so that she could speak with him momentarily. He took his hands into hers and bent to whisper into her ear.

"He would humiliate me in front of you," he said. "He would denounce me as unworthy of my birthright and have you believe it."

"He can't convince me of something that I don't believe," Sophie whispered back. He looked her down at her affectionately and lifted both of her hands to his lips so that he might kiss them.

The King was watching them the entire time, and a slow grin spread upon his face. "Quite the pair, aren't they? But of course they don't know that ruling a great empire requires more than just pretty faces!" And here the King laughed at his own joke.

His laughter was interrupted by a woman's sob, and Sophie watched as two of the Drule guards brought forth a trembling slave girl. Upon looking at the girl, Sophie could see that it was the same slave girl she had encountered when she had first come to inform Zarkon of Plautilla's illness.

"Kneel in front of the King your master!" the herald commanded, and the guards roughly pushed her into a kneeling position.

"Do you know why you've been brought in front of the King?" the herald demanded of her. The girl shook her head wildly, and one of the guards nudged her with the toe of his boot.

"Answer the question!" the guard shouted.

The girl sniffled, wiped the tears from her face, and still staring at the floor, she replied, "They say I stole some food from the royal kitchens..."

"Have her repeat it," Zarkon purred, twirling his scepter between his fingers.

"You heard what the King commanded..."

The girl swallowed. "They say I stole some food from the royal kitchen. But I didn't! They were going to throw it away anyway, and I was so hungry..."

"Enough!" the King interrupted. He rose from his throne and descended the steps of the dais, his crimson robes trailing behind him. He made his way to the slave girl, surveying her as though she were some fine objet d'art he was thinking of purchasing. "Theft is a very serious crime," he began, using his scepter to lift the girl's chin up so that he might see into her eyes. "If a slave does it, it's punishable by death...in the arena. But there are things that you might do to avoid such a punishment..."

Sophie, by this time, had seen and heard enough. She went to the girl's side, and there was a whispering among the courtiers. Haggar watched her curiously, and Lotor's mouth was set in a grim line as she knelt down beside the girl.

"Majesty," she said, "might I intercede on this girl's behalf?"

The King seemed caught off guard at this, and he blinked a few times before regaining his footing. "And what will you do to intercede, daughter-in-law?" There was a hint of irony to his tone, and some laughter among the courtiers. But Sophie did her best to appear unruffled at this.

"I would take her into my household and see that she's properly fed and cared for, and that she is given enough work so that she might earn her keep."

"How noble of you!" the King drawled.

"Further, Majesty," she ventured, "I would see who is responsible for her welfare and that of the other slaves of the royal household. It would seem, if she is driven to stealing food, that she is not being fed properly. This would be the fault of her retainer, wouldn't it?"

The King's brow furrowed, and his lip curled for a moment. "Yes," he said grudgingly, "so it would. I will have someone see to it at once." He turned away from her, about to mount the steps of the dais to his throne.

"Majesty," Sophie said, "does this mean that I might take the girl into my household?"

The King turned to her, clenching his jaw. "Of course you may," he answered evenly. "Now leave me, and take that baggage with you! And you, Lotor, follow suit!"

Sophie rose and then curtsied, and the slave girl did the same. She went to Lotor, who took her arm and led her out of the throne room with the two ladies-in-waiting and slave girl close behind.

"What have you done?" Lotor hissed into her ear as soon as they reached the silence of the corridor leading to the queen's wing of the castle. "First my father makes me look like a fool, and then _you_..."

"Lotor, _someone _had to step in," Sophie replied. "Your father has had designs upon that girl for some time, and it wasn't _fair_..."

Hortense and Rosaline quickly led the girl past them, trying to leave them alone so that they could continue their conversation—or quarrel, Sophie thought—without fear of the girl hearing them.

"She's a slave, Sophie," Lotor said dismissively, pulling away from her. "She's chattel. Your notions of fairness don't apply to people like _her..._"

"But they _do_," Sophie insisted. She stepped toward him, putting her hand upon his shoulder. "Lotor," she began, very softly, "you will one day be King, and I will rule with you as Queen. Wouldn't it be better to begin to show now that you won't only be King, but a great king."

"And how does something like _this_ demonstrate that I'll be a great king?" he asked Sophie, turning to face her. "It only shows that my wife seeks to insert herself into matters that don't concern her because she doesn't like the look of them. It only shows that she can be taken in by every sad story she hears."

"It only would show that one day, you won't only be a mighty king, but a magnanimous one, much more so than your father, and that your wife is a queen upon whom her people can depend to be compassionate and merciful. Might must be tempered with mercy, Lotor. Then the people will love you."

He smiled down at her, his felinoid eyes gleaming speculatively. "You," he said, drawing her close, "are a treasure." He kissed her. "You truly _will _be more of a boon to me than I first expected."

* * *

"You're pensive, my lady," Hortense remarked as she ran a comb through Sophie's hair. "Do you care to speak of what worries you?"

Sophie turned around to glance at Hortense, but also to take note of who was in the room with them. She dismissed the younger ladies with a wave of her hand, and then she faced the mirror once again as Hortense began to tuck the pearl-studded bodkins into her hair.

"Did Plautilla ever speak of seeing ghosts, Hortense?" Sophie ventured, reaching for one of her bottles of scent and opening it to see whether or not it suited her mood.

"Ghosts?" Hortense echoed. "Ghosts would only come naturally with such a charnel house as Castle Doom. If you don't mind my opinion, I think it would be best, my lady, once your husband is King, to persuade him to relocate to Illyria."

"Even if we relocated the court to Illyria, the misery that comes with it would follow, as would the ghosts." Sophie shivered, and Hortense pinned the last of the bodkins into her hair.

"It can be changed, Madam, if you could persuade him." Hortense held the sapphire and pearl earrings out to her, and Sophie took them and put them in the holes in her earlobes.

"And how shall I do so?" Sophie said, standing as Hortense led her to the bench upon which two dresses had been spread. Sophie chose the dark blue with the puffs at the shoulders and the long sleeves and square neck.

Sophie sucked on her breath. _The harem slaves._

"We will speak of this later," Sophie said. "In the meantime, I must dress for dinner..."

* * *

"My love." Lotor extended his hand, and Sophie placed hers in it and felt his warm, strong fingers closing over hers, blue over white, leading her toward him. As a little girl she had dreamed of this, and his kisses, and the sweet, mysterious thing that it would lead to, that she would share with him as his wife...

"Do you remember Archduchess Sophie Beatrix Delphine Vasary of Illyria, now Crown Princess Sophie Beatrix Delphine Sincline of Doom?" Lotor's face betrayed a husband's pride in his new wife.

Of course, Lotor's cousin, Zarkon's nephew Tabor. The son of Zarkon's younger half-brother from his Drule father's second marriage to a human woman, Sophie remembered.

Tabor seemed to wince at this, the vision of his bastard cousin with the exquisite and very rich archduchess of Illyria. _Next in line to the throne. After our sons and daughters. _Sophie inclined her head as Tabor bowed to her. _How many others did Zarkon promise me to? Tabor? Karp?_

"Your Royal Highness." Tabor's tone was even as he bowed.

"Your Grace," she replied. "It's a pleasure to see you again. It's been some time."

"Yes, it has been, Your Highness."

Some time, indeed, since the King's thwarted birthday celebration on Nemon last year. The King had been furious that the Voltron Force had won that battle on Nemon, and she, Rosaline, and Hortense had stood at Plautilla's side as the King had raged at Tabor, Haggar, and General Yurak over the defeat. He had eventually ordered his wife to her chambers while he dealt with them. Sophie had been sent back to retrieve the Queen's fan, which had been left on the table, and the King had rounded on her and pointed at her with his scepter.

"Archduchess! Did I not tell you to remain with the Queen?" he had demanded.

Sophie had curtsied. "I do beg your pardon, Majesty, but the Queen has left her fan..."

"Then get it and leave!" the King had commanded, and Sophie had done just that while Tabor had watched her with the sorriest look she had ever seen on a man's face at that time.

Now the King was kind to her, and pulled her away from Lotor to introduce her to some other Drule nobles and client monarchs, including a queen by the name of Merla, who regarded Sophie coolly and murmured something courteous. As the King led her to her place at the table, right beside his, he said, "Fosco and your brother have come to me requesting that you oversee their upbringing. Lotor had spoken of the same subject very recently."

"Such a coincidence!" Sophie exclaimed nonchalantly.

"Such a coincidence that both your brother and my son speak of it in the same day," Zarkon retorted, his grip on Sophie's arm tightening. "And such a coincidence that there is no one else who wishes for it more. You shall have it, dearest Sophie, as you're the only one who cares for them so, but only because of that. Do you understand?"

Sophie wrenched herself free from his grip. "Of course I understand, _Sire_," she said with an air of defiance. "I will do all that I can to make you proud of them."

"We'll see, won't we?" He motioned to the nearest servant for some wine.

Lotor sat down beside Sophie, and his presence made sitting beside his father a little more bearable. As perceptive of public eyes as always, Lotor took her hand and kissed it, his eyes not leaving her. She made a show of seeming the enamored young bride, cupping his cheek in her hand once he had risen, and she kissed him briefly on the mouth. There were some whispers among the nobles, some of amusement, some expressing their approval of their Crown Prince's choice of wife.

The King had been caught off guard at all of this, even her intercession in the slave girl's punishment earlier, yet he had grudgingly allowed Sophie her requests, perhaps to be charitable. As the night wore on, he drunkenly called for Sebastian, who sat down beside him and listened to his praises. The King clapped Sebastian on the back one too many times, once so hard that he almost fell out of his seat, but he was able to escape unscathed, excusing himself with the reason that he had to be up early tomorrow for the flight home to Illyria. Sophie found a reason to excuse herself as well, and she waited until they were close to Sebastian's rooms to speak.

"Lotor and I quarreled this afternoon," she burst out, her face flushing.

Sebastian laughed. "All lovers and spouses quarrel, Sophie!" he said. "Even our own parents quarreled from time to time." He opened the door to his chambers and led her into the salon. "Was it about the slave girl?"

Sophie nodded as she sat down.

"But you see, it was a very strategic move upon your part," Sebastian said brightly. "You see, you've

unwittingly brought your husband some loyalty among the slaves. Soon they'll come to you in droves, and that means..." Sebastian smiled at the thought. "Now we know why Zarkon was so taken aback! You're his son's trump card!"

And the words remained with Sophie as she returned to her own rooms and as her ladies-in-waiting helped her ready for bed. The slave girl, Hortense assured her, had been bathed, fed, and put to bed. "She wishes to thank you for your intercession, my lady," Hortense said as she removed the bodkins from Sophie's hair.

"Did she give her name?"

"She did. Her name is Perrin." Hortense began to brush out Sophie's hair. "Was the Prince angry with you?"

"No, not after we discussed it."

"He seems enamored of you, my lady. I think you have made him happy. And he _does_ deserve some happiness in his life, as do all of us. He certainly seems to want to do everything in his power to make you happy."

"He does," Sophie replied automatically. And then her brow creased in thought. "Hortense, would you be so kind as to have one of the pages sent to tell Haggar that I would like to see her tomorrow morning before the Prince and I leave for Illyria?"

"I shall. Is there anything else you would require?" Hortense asked her.

Sophie shook her head. "Not right now. If I need anything else, I will have Celia fetch it. Good night."

Hortense curtsied, then turned on her heel to leave the room. She heard the door to her chambers open, and Hortense greeted the Prince before she left for the night. She noticed that he was carrying what looked to be a jewel casket as he entered the bedroom. She was ready to rise from her dressing table, but he raised his hand to still her as he came to her and knelt at her side, presenting the casket to her.

"Open it," he said beseechingly, as though he were a child hoping that she would adore the present he had brought for her.

Sophie opened it, and she gasped at the jewels that glittered in it. Rings, necklaces, earrings, bracelets- all had been thrown haphazardly into the casket, as though someone had wished to put them away and never look at them again.

"I told you that there was more," he said, reaching into the casket for a ruby and diamond bracelet and slipping it on her wrist. "And there is more still. It's yours...all of it is yours. It all belonged to my mother, and I've kept it aside to give to my wife."

"They're beautiful," was all that she could say. He kissed her then, and she almost dropped the casket before she laughingly placed it on her dressing table. She stood up and took his hand, leading him to bed.

"You'll always be mine, Sophie," he said as she settled herself on him and guided him into her. "Say that you'll always be mine."

"Always," she replied. "I'll always be yours." He brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her. She soon fell against him, spent, holding him close as he finished.

"Sophie, Sophie, what a queen you will be! _My_ queen," he panted, clasping her to him in those moments. Once he had pulled away from her, he held her in his arms as they caught their breaths. "And tomorrow," he said as she turned over to lay her head on his shoulder, "we leave for Illyria, where I'll have you all to myself."

"Yes," she said, thrilling at the thought of it. There would be no Zarkon, no war, no battles, no defeats, none of that.

But more importantly, there would be no Voltron and no Princess Allura, and she would have him—_all _of him—for one delightful month.

**Oh, it was just a matter of time before Sophie would be on the receiving end of Zarkon's insults. But remember, Sophie is her grandfather's granddaughter; she knows much more about what goes on than people think and uses it to her advantage, as you've just seen. So what do you think so far?**


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Voltron, _but all original characters are so much for the reviews; I'm pleased you like this, even if some parts of _Les Fleurs de Mal_ are crap.**

**For those of you I haven't told, I have a "cast" of Natalie Dormer as Sophie, Gaspard Ulliel (you _must_ watch him as Henri de Guise in _La Princesse de Montpensier_) as Sebastian, and Simon Callow from a 1998 BBC production of Wilkie Collins's _The Woman in White_ as Ancelin Fosco (he played Count Fosco, so yes, I did keep the surname).**

**House of Cards**

**Chapter Nine**

Sophie's rooms were a flurry of activity the following morning as the final preparations were made for the trip to Illyria. The page conducted Haggar through the doorway of Sophie's salon, where Sophie was taking her breakfast. Haggar bowed to Sophie, murmuring, "Your Highness."

"Haggar," Sophie acknowledged, putting aside her cup of coffee and gesturing for her to sit down in the seat next to hers. The witch gladly settled into it, and without ceremony she set a container on the table.

"That should last you for your time away," she told Sophie. "But something tells me you have more concerns than the tea?"

Sophie nodded, and she lowered her voice when she asked the question. "What do you know of ghosts, Haggar?"

The old witch blinked, reaching for her staff. "What would you _like_ to know, Your Highness?"

Sophie drew in a deep breath to steady herself. "Are there ghosts in this castle, and if there are, what do you know of them?"

Haggar laughed. "Your Highness, _every_ castle has ghosts! Why are you asking? Have you seen one?"

"Yes, I have."

"Then tell me what you saw."

Sophie described the apparition she had seen the other night while trying to sleep in her husband's room, and she could have sworn she saw Haggar's eyes widen just a little bit. But the witch remained as seemingly serene as ever about it.

"You worry too much, Princess," Haggar told her chidingly. "Your mind should be on your inaugural trip to Illyria as Prince Lotor's wife—the wife he _chose—_and as the woman who will one day rule at his side as queen. He has bestowed this honor upon _you_ instead of the Arusian princess. You must show that you're deserving of this honor."

Sophie leaned back in her chair, regarding the witch coldly. _You must show that you're deserving of this honor._ What _hadn't _she done that showed she was deserving of such an honor?

"I haven't forgotten what an _honor_ all of this is," she retorted. "I've been raised with the expectation of being his queen. Everything my grandfather has done to elevate Illyria's position in the Denubian Galaxy has been for _this._"

Haggar lowered her eyes for a moment, then once more, she regarded Sophie levelly. "Princess, remember that my interests are tied with yours _and _Prince Lotor's. If you seem to forget your objective, then I'll see fit to remind you of it."

Sophie set aside her napkin and smiled wanly at Haggar. "Of course, how can I forget?"

Haggar seemed to take this as an indication that she was dismissed, and she rose from the chair. Sophie watched her, cringing inwardly at the crack of the witch's joints.

"You'll need to let me know when you see the first signs of pregnancy," Haggar said as she passed Sophie. "_I'll _ensure that you carry to term, and that this child—and any after—are healthy."

Sophie stared up at the witch's ravaged face, and somehow in her heart of hearts she felt pity for Haggar. _There is nothing for her. Nothing for her but this._

"Be assured that I will let you know if I see any," she told Haggar, and there was a gleam of _something _in Haggar's eyes, though she couldn't be sure of what it was.

* * *

They departed for Illyria that afternoon with more fanfare than Sophie had ever thought possible. The lights from the cameras and the loud cheers from the crowd were disorienting, and she clung to Lotor's arm when she saw their images on the holoscreens. Yes, it had been so long—years—since she had been in the middle of all of this, with the crowds below her as she stood by her grandfather's side as they chanted his name. And now...

"Sophie, did you hear them?" Lotor's sharp tone interrupted her thoughts as he tugged at the sleeve of her gown. "They want us to kiss."

She laughed in spite of herself and turned to him. He kissed her forcefully, and she felt as though he was stealing her breath away. Despite her shock, she returned it, only for the crowd to let out a deafening roar.

"The mobs," he said to her as he pulled away from her. "Already they love you."

She glanced at him, and he smiled at her as he took her hand into his. They stood on the balcony for a few more minutes until the crowd calmed, and then they returned to the inside of the castle to make their way to the hangars. Their retinue followed; Sophie had chosen to take Rosaline and Amalia as her ladies-in-waiting and her handmaid Celia and the new addition Perrin with her. It had been decided that Plautilla's household would become Sophie's, since she had known them for so long and she knew that she could trust them. Any additional changes to her household or the princesses' would be delayed until she and Lotor had returned from Illyria.

She had never been aboard Lotor's flagship before; usually if she had traveled to Illyria with Plautilla and the princesses, it was aboard one of the royal liners escorted by a few military vessels. But _this_...she had always seen it in pictures and from afar, but she hadn't realized that it was so grandiose. The emblem of Doom and House Sincline—the bone-white skull—marked the helm, and the ship itself was as black as a starless night, yet had the sheen of a well-polished onyx stone. It was beautiful and terrible all at once, and she could see why it would strike fear into the hearts of all who encountered it, for it would bring either death—or something worse—to them.

_This is what people will think of when I am Queen. Something beautiful and terrible and..._ She dared not finish the thought, and she let it go completely when Lotor took her hand and introduced her to the leading members of his crew, including General Cossack, of whose deeds she had heard so much, yet to whom she had never been formally introduced.

"So you can see everything from here?" Sophie ventured as she stood in front of the captain's chair on the bridge.

"Yes, my love, I can see everything," he said indulgently, and there was a sound of some repressed laughter from the ship's crew.

"You know what I meant," Sophie said quickly, a little hurt.

"Of course I know," he answered, taking her hand and kissing it.

Once they reached his stateroom they were finally able to be alone, and he was as attentive a lover as always, but there still seemed to be something on his mind, and as she lie beside him, she asked him, "What are you thinking of?"

He chuckled, glancing over at her. "Of everything, of nothing. Of what Illyria might have to offer me strategically—beyond _you_, of course—and of the son we may just now have made."

Sophie smiled at him. "You'll be very pleased with what Illyria will have to offer you," she promised, leaning over to kiss him.

* * *

She could hear him in the main room, talking to Cossack of mounting an attack from the Illyrian territory. Bleary-eyed, she sat up, trying to catch what she could of their conversation.

"Which do you recommend?"

"Ah, Sire, the issue is the Illyrian system; the planets are so close together, and the moons..."

"But the furthest planet, closest to Arus? Nevah?"

Nevah of ice and snow, with its summer of three months. The planet of coldness.

_Of ice and snow, of gold and diamonds..._

"Nevah is Sophie's, the last Illyrian hold before Arus's borders. "

"But you're married to Sophie...so isn't it now..."

"_Really_, Cossack? And you know what's hers is mine now?"

"And Archduke Sebastian?"

"Grand Duke now; but he knows."

Attacks mounted from Illyria. Yes, it had always been a possibility...but she had never thought that Lotor would be evaluating what he had to work with _now_. But then they were aboard his military flagship, with some of his officers on board, so _yes,_ it would make sense to see what Sophie's holdings in Illyria might have to offer...

"I'm curious about something Grand Duke Sebastian mentioned as well," Lotor went on. "He seems to think that more traditional tactics might be beneficial in ground war. Of course, it could all be some silly pipe dream. Sebastian is a politician; he's not a soldier, even if he _did_ attend the Academy."

That was true. Sebastian had not the heart for war, for total destruction, but he had a head for politics and diplomacy. And Grandpapa had inculcated that into him, that things could be better accomplished through wit and cunning than through brute force. This was why the smaller planets that had been threatened by the rising Drule power had turned to Illyria, to the lesser of two evils. Something was arranged, a marriage, a treaty, or even the untimely deaths of those who stood in the way of what seemed to be for the greater good. But Grandpapa had been no less dangerous than Zarkon; those who crossed him would incur his wrath eventually and would pay very dearly for it.

There was also talk of the fleets of ships that had come with her dowry, and then of more mundane things, and then they reminisced about old conquests before Cossack bid Lotor good night and left the Prince's rooms. She heard Lotor come into the bedroom and sit on the bed, and he sipped at what must have been a goblet of wine before putting it down on the bedside table. She sat up, turning on the light, and he whirled in surprise to see that she was awake.

"Sophie, did I wake you?" he asked her, leaning over to brush her cheek with his fingers. She chewed on her lower lip, unsure of what to say to him or how to begin, until she finally found the words.

"Illyria. You wish to mount an attack from one of the planets in Illyria?" she said.

His eyes grew flinty. "So you heard General Cossack and me?"

"Every word." She fiddled with the hem of her silk nightgown. "I know that you're taking stock of what you have, but mounting an attack from Nevah, even though it's just ice and snow and mining camps..."

"Is there something wrong with that, my love?" Lotor asked her, very softly, his features hardening.

"I only wish you would have spoken with me about it first," she continued. "These are, after all, my holdings, and yours, too, now. It would only be proper if you would speak of it to me from now on..."

"Sophie," he said, "what makes you believe that I would need to have your permission for any military move I choose to make? Should I run _every_ military decision by you? Would that make you feel better?"

She didn't know what he was getting at with this, but she shook her head. "No," she replied.

"Since you've said _that_," he continued, edging closer to her, "I should be able to mount an attack from anywhere in Illyria that I wish, shouldn't I, if I need to?"

"Yes," she said. He smiled then, his face softening, and he stroked her cheek.

"So we've settled _that_ then, haven't we?" he said. "You see, Sophie, there are times when you must trust me and let me do as I see fit. You do understand, don't you, my love? You do want to be a queen, don't you?"

"Of course I want to a queen, and yes, Lotor, I _do _understand, but..." And here she trailed off.

"But?" he prompted, and she knew she must word this carefully.

"See that they're the right decisions," she finished, and he laughed.

"They will _always_ be the right decisions," he promised, kissing her good night. And nothing more was spoken of it, though it left a bitter taste in her mouth that somehow he had ended up having the upper hand in all of this.

**I know this chapter is short, but it seemed like a good point at which to stop. Sophie's rude awakening has only begun!**


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Voltron_, but all original characters are mine.**

**House of Cards **

**Author's Note: I know I'm playing around with the timeline of the series quite a bit, but that's all right, isn't it? Sebastian's failed courtship of Romelle will play a part later on as things unfold, though he won't be romantically involved with her. **

**Chapter Ten**

It was said that Sophie Beatrix of Illyria had originally been Lotor's intended, that Fabian Vasary had groomed his granddaugher to be Lotor's queen.

It was said that when she was but fourteen she sat for a portrait painted in miniature for him, contained in a brooch that Lotor wore pinned to his dress uniform for two years until his father had demanded that he remove the brooch and think of other princesses to take as wives.

It was said that Zarkon had contemplated taking Sophie of Illyria as a third wife, until his son had demanded to marry Sophie.

So much had been said, and yet so much of it had been speculation.

And yet what did it mean?

Sebastian of Illyria _was_ courting her cousin Romelle of Pollux, so perhaps that meant something.

It didn't drive Allura mad, but it set her to wondering.

Sebastian, it was said, was a gallant, the darling of Illyria, his grandfather's last best hope. He was noble in bearing, kind and chivalrous of word and deed, but certainly there was more to him than just what was visible on the surface. And yet how could someone like Sebastian, who was like the knights in the old tales, allow his sister to marry Lotor?

"There were rumors," Coran told Allura as they sipped cups of hot cocoa in the council chamber, "that Fabian Vasary had a grand purpose. But then Illyrians...you know what most of us think about Illyrians..."

Illyrians. Two-faced, backstabbing, wheeling and dealing, cajoling and threatening, no better than Drules.

"If Sebastian marries Romelle," Allura posited, "then that shields Pollux—and a branch of my family—from actual Drule occupation."

"Then we need to hope that Sebastian of Illyria marries Romelle of Pollux," Coran said. "And if Sophie of Illyria bears Lotor a son..."

"Then?" Allura prompted.

"She came with a dowry of colonies, money, and ships. If she bears Lotor a son, and if he moves against Zarkon..."

"Then she's the queen," Allura said.

"Of course she'd be queen if Lotor became king. But, Princess..."

"It's like chess. Like how Keith taught me. When the king is in danger, there's one main objective."

"And what is that?"

"To protect the queen."

* * *

"It was a horrible decision you made, Sebastian," his grandmother opined severely, petting the lapdog that lay contentedly at her side.

"It wasn't my decision to make, Grandmamma," Sebastian reminded her as he skimmed the agricultural report from Tyrol on his datapad. "Sophie had been promised to Lotor long ago—the contract had beeen signed by King Zarkon and my grandfather Vasary pending further negotiations when it came to the dowry. Lotor simply demanded that his father honor that promise."

"Was Sophie willing to go through with the marriage?" Theodosia, the Duchess Mycene, demanded of her grandson.

"He asked Sophie first. She consulted me, and I advised her that it would be a good match. So she consented, and now she is Crown Princess of planet Doom, first and foremost among however many other wives he might take."

"Including the Arusian parvenue?"

"Including the Arusian parvenue."

Theodosia laughed, her hazel eyes glittering merrily. "Ah, you're a cunning one, dear boy! Yet you forget Zarkon's nephew, who would be all too willing to fight Lotor over the succession."

"Tabor doesn't have Illyria behind him."

"And if he goes to the Galaxy Alliance seeking assistance and promising to free the planets under Zarkon's rule and reparations besides, what then?" Theodosia persisted. "Sophie might be the face that launches a thousand ships against Zarkon, but if Tabor is able to convince the Galaxy Alliance, he will have Voltron _and _the new prototypes behind him. It would be best to tie Tabor to an Illyrian family and quickly. I can think of at least a dozen young ladies who would wish to be his wife."

Sebastian glanced up from his reports. Indeed, underneath her veneer of politeness and old aristocratic charm, Duchess Theodosia Mycene was one of the most brilliant political strategists Sebastian had ever had the honor of learning from, aside from his grandfather the Grand Duke. She had engineered the marriage between her daughter Emma and Nicholas Vasary after seeing that each was inclined to the other. It had been a great scandal; Emma's long-standing engagement to Duke Casimir of Hesperia had been broken, and the duke had challenged Archduke Nicholas to a duel over it, and Nicholas had beaten him. It had been only the Grand Duke's intervention that had settled the matter, but Casimir of Hesperia had never forgotten the affront.

"Of course," Theodosia resumed, "it cannot be with the Duke of Hesperia's house."

"No, it cannot be," Sebastian murmured, and Theodosia rose, smiling down at her grandson.

"Perhaps," she said, "your Aunt Tatia could be instrumental in this as well...as could her daughters."

"But first, Grandmamma, you must at least be polite to Lotor," Sebastian said pointedly. "After all, your granddaughter will one day be a queen at his side, and you will be a great-grandmother to a little crown prince."

Theodosia laughed. "Yes, I _do _suppose I shall have to make an attempt, now, won't I? Very well then: so long as he is good to Sophie and keeps his promises. But if he does not..."

"If he does not?" Sebastian prompted.

"Then I will make him suffer for it," she declared, and Sebastian knew that she was quite serious with that promise.

* * *

Princess Romelle was quite lovely, if not headstrong and fiercely independent, but Sebastian was growing fond of her. Her attempts to play the coquette were not only girlish, but sweet, and she seemed to adore the gifts that he gave her. He noted that she wore the earrings and the necklace from the parure he'd had made for her, and indeed, they were very becoming on her.

"They're very beautiful," she told him as she fiddled with the necklace. "And opals...I don't have any opals. This is getting to be a habit with you. Do you intend on sending me more gifts?"

"Would you _like_ more gifts, my lady?" he asked her playfully, and even through the comm screen he could hear her breath catch. Her cerulean eyes widened. "Name whatever it is you desire, and you shall have it."

There was a sudden gleam in her eyes, one of childish covetousness, and her normally mellifluous, alto voice lowered to a smoky whisper. "Anything?"

"If it can be obtained, anything," he replied, "were you to accept my formal proposal and become my wife."

She bit her rouged lip, and he could see that she was turning the question over in her mind. Perhaps she was astonished by the former offer of marriage and dazzled by what it would bring her, what it would mean for Pollux even in spite of its very close ties to Doom.

"Then I'd be a Grand Duchess?" she said. "Grand Duchess of all of Illyria?"

"All of it," Sebastian replied, "except for the planets and moons allotted to my sister."

He thought that this might bother her, but it didn't. "I'll have to tell my father you proposed," Romelle said quickly, "and he'll want to speak with you before I formally accept..."

"I thought as much," Sebastian said, a smile forming on his lips. "Will I expect to hear from him soon?"

She smiled, too, and it softened her features. "Of course. I can't tell you how thrilled I am at your proposal, Sebastian..."

"Dearest Romelle," he said tenderly, "until then." And he tenderly pressed his fingers to his lips. She laughed.

"Until then," she replied, ending the communication.

Sebastian sat back in the seat of his chair, his brow furrowed. Yes, he was, perhaps, being too sentimental, but the Grand Duke had begun negotiations for Sebastian's courtship and eventual marriage to Romelle just before his death. It had sat in limbo for a few years, but not intentionally as Sophie's formal engagement to Lotor had. Sebastian had seen fit to resume the courtship and the negotiations, and King Kova, of course, encouraged this, perhaps motivated by what Illyria would have to offer should Zarkon turn its coat on Pollux as he had on so many other worlds. Should that be the case, an alliance with Illyria, or at worst, absorption into its grand duchy, would only be beneficial to Pollux, as it couldn't simply reach out to Arus and Galaxy Garrison.

And yet there had been some sort of grand purpose behind it, though Sebastian had never been able to understand the Grand Duke's motivations. His grandfather had even been more self-contained than he, though he was certan that Ancelin Fosco might know more of it. Either way, there was Sophie to think of now, and Lotor's formal introduction into Illyrian society as her husband. He certainly hoped that Lotor woud be charming enough and keep hold of his temper; it wouldn't do for the nobles to see proof of his reputation as a brat prince. Between himself, his sister, and Fosco, they must keep Lotor on a tight leash during the honeymoon trip, just so that the Crown Prince of Doom could make as good of an impression as possible and earn the respect and support of the Illyrian nobles.

* * *

"It's a wonderful thing, my lady," Amalia said as she handed the package to Sophie. "It has, after all, been some time since you two have been married. It doesn't hurt to see. If there's nothing, then you've nothing to tell the Prince."

Sophie took the test with her into the bathroom, and a few moments later she set it on the counter in front of her, watching for the result. She emerged from the bathroom with a pale face, holding the test in her hand. Amalia came to her side to see the result.

"Oh, my lady!" she exclaimed. "How thrilled the Prince will be!"

* * *

"So it was successful?" Haggar seemed pleased. "This is what we've been working for, Your Highness. If all goes well—which it _will—_Lotor will have done what his father has wished him to do for years!"

Yes, the first step in Lotor's grand plan: provide a son, his own heir, so that there would be some assurance that the line would continue.

"I must tell the Prince," Sophie said, fiddling with some of the beading on her dressing gown. "I would like to wait to tell the King and announce it publicly, just until we're sure..."

"A wise course of action, Your Highness." Sophie watched the comm screen as Haggar reached to stroke the horrid cat with a gnarled finger. "You _will_ allow me to act as your midwife, won't you?"

Sophie started at this. She hadn't given much thought to it, but then, considering how the witch had been able to provide a potion to ensure that she would conceive quickly, she was sure that Haggar was knowledgeable about midwifery.

"I did aid in the delivery of the Prince your husband," Haggar went on. "I'm sure he will agree I ought to be present at the delivery of his son as well."

Sophie rubbed her forefinger and thumb together as she glanced away, trying to collect her thoughts. "If that is what the Prince would wish as well, then so it shall be."

"You've made a wise choice, Princess," Haggar said, and Sophie could hear the smile and the sense of victory in her voice. "The Prince will not object to it."

Sophie sat back in her chair once the communication had been ended, and she allowed Celia to dress her hair. Perrin set a light breakfast of brioche and grapes on the table beside the chair, and Sophie turned to her, glancing at her inquisitively.

"Perrin."

"Yes, my lady?" There was some alarm in the young woman's eyes, and she wiped her hands on the skirt of her new gown.

"There's nothing to be frightened of, Perrin," Celia said, fastening a bodkin into Sophie's hair. "The Crown Princess has always been a kind mistress to me in a place where kindness is rare."

Perrin stared down at Sophie, and Sophie smiled at her. "I was only going to ask which planet you were from."

Perrin handed Sophie the cloth napkin. "I'm from Nemon."

Sophie reached for the toast. "And you've been in slavery for how long?"

"For three years, Your Highness. At first I worked in the laundry, but then I was sent to the kitchens, and then to your household."

Sophie didn't like the sound of this. "If ever I ask you questions, will you answer them honestly?"

Perrin nodded eagerly. "Oh, of course, my lady," she replied. "I would answer anything you asked..."

"Thank you, Perrin," Sophie said, holding out her hand, Perrin clasped it, and Sophie looked up at her. "When I have questions to ask, I know that I can trust you to answer them."

Perrin smiled shyly, putting her other hand on Sophie's. "Thank you, my lady," she said sincerely. "You've been nothing but kind to me..."

Sophie released Perrin's hand as the bedroom door opened and Lotor entered, tailed by his valet. Rosaline, Amalia, Perrin, and Celia stopped what they were doing and curtsied to him, and he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. "You, too," he ordered his valet brusquely, and once the servants had left the bedroom, he turned to Sophie, who rose from the chair she was sitting in. "You sent my valet to the bridge to let me know you had something important to tell me," he said, crossing his arms across his chest.

She nodded, a smile on her face. She took a few steps toward him closing the gap between him, and took his hand into hers. "It's very important."

He seemed to grow impatient, almost sulky. "Don't be coy with me, Sophie. Simply tell me what it is."

"Dearest husband," she told him, "I'm pregnant. I'm carrying your son."

His expression changed from one of exasperation to one of exhilaration. "You're certain?" he asked her, his grip on her hand tightening.

"Quite certain," she answered, "but I would still like to wait until we officially announce it...or even tell your father."

"All of which is understandable," Lotor amended, nodding. "But Sophie...a son..._our_ son..."

"Yes," she acknowledged as he pulled her close to him. "Our son."

He bent to kiss her. "It's just the beginning, only the beginning," he said quickly before his lips closed over hers again.

"The beginning of what?" she asked him, and he pressed his forehead to hers, a smirk forming on his lips.

"You're going to bear my son, who will not only have my blood, but yours, and all of the benefits that come with being the son of a Vasary," he explained, stroking her hair. "I promise you, Sophie, that I will be a father that he can be proud of."

"I'm sure that you will be," she told him, kissing him briefly, and in her heart, she could only hope so.


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Voltron_, but all original characters are mine. Apologies for the delay in updating; I got involved with another project that basically wrote itself. Thanks for reviews, fans, and follows as always, and thanks for your patience. Special thanks to KathDMD and Drowningblonde for motivating me to get my derriere in gear and update. And this is AU, in a way, because I'm playing with the timeline; Lotor is going to meet Romelle much sooner than was shown in the series.**

**Author's Note: The Vasary family palace in the Illyrian capital of Salamis is modeled after Schonbrunn in Vienna (guess who grew up there!). The Duchess Mycene's is modeled after the Palais de Luxembourg in Paris.**

**And wouldn't Tom Hardy make a good Lotor? This is after my _Wuthering Heights_ rewatch.**

Playlist:

_The Infanta,_ The Decemberists

_Ballad of a Politician, _Regina Spektor

_Million Dollar Man, _Lana del Rey

_Welcome to the Black Parade,_ My Chemical Romance

**House of Cards**

**Chapter Eleven**

They were met in the Illyrian capital of Salamis by roaring crowds and buildings festooned with flags and standards bearing the red, green, and gold of the house of Vasary and the red and black of the house of Sincline. Sophie, dressed sumptuously in red silk shot through with gold, tucked her hand into Lotor's elbow as they progressed down the ramp of the ship to the open carriage that awaited them. Lotor's demeanor seemed to have changed as soon as they had disembarked from the ship; he seemed to stand taller, and the normal arrogance that marked his countenance was replaced by a certain air of _noblesse oblige_.

He knew, of course. He knew that this wasn't Doom or one of the many planet's in Doom's territories, but Illyria, who had come willingly into his father's empire, who could very well help pave his way to the throne that he so desired.

"There are many nobles who would be in support of you," Sophie had told him last night as they had sat down to dinner. "Sebastian will introduce them to you. He already is sure of which ones would be best able to help you attain your goal, and my grandmother can offer some guidance as well."

"You speak as though this is _your_ desire and not mine," Lotor remarked acidly, reaching for another piece of roasted chicken.

"Lotor, you are my husband. Your desires for power are also my desires for power."

"Are they?" he replied enigmatically. "Or is there more to it than what only appears on the surface?"

She sighed. "Really, Lotor, my family wishes to support you. Some Illyrians will, no doubt, profit from your generosity once you have the crown, but we certainly do not wish to see you used as a puppet king beholden to only our whims and desires."

"Spoken as it ought to be in very pretty words." He glared down into his glass of wine.

Sophie returned to her meal, unsure of what had gotten him into such a mood, but this morning, he seemed to be more cheerful and much more eager to be received will not only by the Illyrian public, but by the nobles who could only help him in his cause. Zarkon was not well-liked in Illyria at this time; it was widely believed that he had either had the Queen poisoned or caused her to die of heartache. There was discord among the nobles, though Sebastian had been able to keep it contained. The last thing they needed was for Zarkon to get wind of how deep the discontent was in Illyria and for him to find out what Lotor was planning.

The discontent, Sophie thought as she raised her arm to wave at the crowd, could be used to their advantage, and mostly to Lotor's advantage. He would have to make promises. And he would have to keep them.

She glanced over at him, noticing that the breeze ruffled his hair a bit, as they stepped into the carriage. He must have sensed she was watching him, for he turned to her and asked him, "What is it, my love?"

She took his hand into hers, dazzled by how the jewels in his medals caught the light of the sun and winked and glimmered at her, and that was when she saw the brooch pinned to the left of his heart. She remembered it: It was of dark gold, beaten into an oval shape and surrounded with garnets along the perimeter, and in the center was the shooting star, the symbol that had come to be associated with her, made of pearl. "You're wearing the brooch again," she said in astonishment.

"Because I kept my promise to marry you," he answered gently, bending to kiss her. "Why shouldn't I wear your minature close to my heart so that the people know that you have always had it?"

There was another shout from the crowd as he kissed her, and it made Sophie dizzy. This, all of this...this was what she had always wanted, this was always what she had been told she would become when she married Lotor. Crown Princess of Doom, Illyria's Shooting Star, the means through which Illyria would leave its mark on the house of Sincline and bring Zarkon's empire to the fore.

Soon they came to the Vasary family palace, a sprawling, stately structure that was located within the heart of the city. Here Sebastian and her grandmother, the Duchess of Mycene, waited for them, along with Ancelin Fosco, and here they would stategize and advise Lotor of which Illyrian political families would be his best allies and which he must try to put down or placate.

* * *

It had been the Duchess of Mycene's idea to invite Romelle of Pollux to the festivities so that she could see the true grandeur of Illyria and what it would mean to be Grand Duchess of all of _this_ and sister-in-law to the future Queen of Planet Doom. Sebastian had been the one to issue the formal invitation, and the girl's younger brother had been invited as a sort of chaperone and stand-in for his father and older brother, who were, so the story went, much too preoccupied with the task of ruling Pollux to come to Illyria with Romelle.

"It certainly isn't a good sign," Ancelin Fosco said to Sebastian. "If the Polluxian king were serious about the marriage and wished for his daughter to accept your proposal, would he not have come with his daughter?"

"The Polluxian king is a wind-up toy for King Zarkon," Sebastian replied witheringly as he went over the schedule for Sophie's and Lotor's week-long visit in the capital. "For all we know Zarkon could be very much against the union and advised the king and the heir to stay behind while his daughter danced with me until dawn."

"And so the plan is to woo her, then?" Fosco posited. "You would dazzle her and show her what she could have, and hope that she goes home and begs her father to consent to the marriage?"

"Romelle's father indulges his daughter's every whim," the Duchess of Mycene said from her corner of Sebastian's sitting room. "He will not have his daughter spending the rest of her days in Pollux weeping and miserable. He will allow her to marry Sebastian, and thus Pollux will no longer be a threat and will be kept away from any threats. And _I_ will be acting as her duenna in Illyria, and she shall return to my home with me at the end of each night with her reputation and virtue intact. Unless she would consent to a runaway marriage..."

"A runaway marriage?" Ancelin Fosco echoed, laughing. "That would be folly! King Kova would immediately go to Zarkon and have the marriage dissolved, and the girl would return home in disgrace and Sebastian would be regarded as a cad and a libertine. No, no, we must be more careful about this, Your Grace! It would be better to slowly bring her under our fold, show her all of the pretty things she could have were she to marry Sebastian, and make her a friend to Sophie."

"Which is why I—along with Sophie—will be acting in Romelle's best interests. For don't you know?"

"Don't I know what?" Fosco said.

"Have you not seen images of the Princess Romelle and her cousin, Allura of Arus?" Sebastian said quietly, picking up his datapad and pulling up the most recent pictures.

"I know that there is a passing resemblance between the two of them," Fosco replied.

"There is not only a passing resemblance," Sebastian said, rising from his chair and approaching Fosco, "but a near _exact_ one. Don't you see?"

And he showed Fosco: both young women had the same cerulean eyes, the same golden color of hair, and a very similar facial shape—though Allura's chin was more pointed than Romelle's and Romelle had a certain softness about the cheeks. Fosco's face grew grave when he saw this.

"This is why you would wish to marry Romelle, even though she is little more than a parvenue?" Fosco demanded. "You would protect her from your brother-in-law? You would lock her in a gilded cage in Illyria until Lotor came with a fleet and a robeast to carry her away with him?"

"She won't need to be locked away," Sebastian said. "By the time he is King, Lotor will owe Illyria so much that he would never dare to turn against us."

* * *

Lotor and Sophie were formally received by Sebastian, the Duchess, and Ancelin Fosco in the grand salon of the palace, where many of the Illyrian nobles had gathered to see the newly married couple arrive. They seemed quite curious about the Crown Prince and how he treated their archduchess, and now their curiosity would be satisfied.

Lotor was as courtly as he had learned to be during his summers in Illyria, kissing the Duchess's hand and pressing it to his forehead, bowing to Sebastian, and returning Ancelin Fosco's bow. Duchess Tatiana of Sangerres, formerly Archduchess Tatiana Vasary, received the same treatment as Duchess Mycene, as did her three daughters. Sophie was pleased that Lotor had contrived to be as princely as his title would have suggested, for he would have disgraced himslf very much indeed had he behaved as he would on Doom. Perhaps he understood the importance of all of this, perhaps he understood that his future rested on all of this.

And for the first time, during the course of their very short marriage, Sophie was proud of her husband.

**Apologies that this is short. I've had to sit down and do more planning than I anticipated for this, so I will have something more later this week (hopefully). Thank goodness for Evernote! And now we have plots within plots within plots...**


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Voltron **_**and all original characters are mine. Thanks for all of the faves, follows, and reviews!**

KathDMD: Thanks! Everything has started to calm down now, and I have this story pretty much outlined to the end. There _will_ be a battle with Voltron closer to the end of this fic, but in this chapter we see Lotor acting like the _enfant terrible_ he is. And Romelle arrives this chapter—we get to see more Sebastian and Romelle!

Playlist:

_Je Mise Tout,_ from the musical _1789: Les amants de la bastille, _sung by Roxane Le Texier as Marie Antoinette. I know it's in French; I will add an appendix or something translating the song (though the title means I took all). There are vids of the performance from the musical on You Tube; watch them because it's truly amazing.

_My Lady's House,_ Iron & Wine

_Louis XIV, _Louis XIV

_Young and Beautiful,_ Lana del Rey

**House of Cards**

**Chapter Twelve**

"The houses that you can depend upon most are not only the houses of Mycene and Sancerres, but also Carmian, Trastamere, Gualhartz, Aimeric, Lozoic, Ebratz, and Vezias. The more minor houses will follow," Ancelin Fosco began quietly as the Crown Prince of Doom surveyed the datapad with the information about Illyria's leading families stored upon it. Sebastian watched as Lotor's brow furrowed, and a frown marred the Prince's handsome face.

"What guarantee do I have that they will side with me and not my father?" he demanded.

"It will take some time," Sebastian replied honestly. "You must cultivate these alliances. The marriage to my sister and her pregnancy were but the first step. Much of it depends upon the impression you leave with these families. That is why it is so important that you listen to whatever advice Count Fosco, the Duchess Mycene, Sophie, or myself can give you."

"Politics is a difficult sea to navigate through, Your Highness," Count Fosco amended. "Particularly Illyrian politics when alliances and odds can change so quickly. If one thinks of it as a chess game, or a card game..."

"I'd prefer to think of it as a battle, Fosco," Lotor said smoothly, lifting his head and narrowing his amber eyes at the Prime Minister. "Odds and circumstances can always change in a battle. It's important to realize this and plan accordingly."

"But these aren't your adversaries, Lotor," Sebastian reminded him. "These families have been allies of mine for years...and now they are also _your_ allies."

"Are they, Sebastian?" Lotor said silkily, turning to face the Grand Duke. "Even if they are, it will still be up to them to prove their loyalty to me. They may be loyal to _you_, but how they would view House Sincline is entirely another matter."

Sebastian poured himself another glass of wine as Lotor went to sit down in one of the chairs in the study. The Prince had brought his arrogance and expectations of underlings obeying him without question with him. His behavior must be brought to heel now, otherwise he would ruin everything that Sebastian and Fosco had spent months building for him in a matter of hours.

"Lotor," Sebastian ventured, approaching the Prince carefully, "perhaps you fail to understand. Illyria is not like Planet Doom or the rest of the Drule Empire. While there is a certain sort of respect for you that comes as a result of you being your father's son and heir and husband to the former Archduchess Sophie, you must also win the trust and respect of those whose support you desire. It is imperative that you heed what Count Fosco and I have to say and that you listen to Sophie as well."

"It is imperative, Sebastian, that you remember who I am. One day I will be your King, and I expect to be treated as such. I will make your sister a Queen and we will produce a line of kings with Vasary blood flowing through their veins." Lotor glanced up from the datapad threateningly. "Illyria will maintain its current status as a beloved protectorate."

"You do realize, Lotor," Sebastian reminded the Drule prince, "that these families will also be supporting your efforts financially...and that there are many other families whose support you could gain by remaining in their good graces."

Lotor's eyes narrowed, and he bit at his lip with a pointed canine. "What are you saying, Sebastian?"

"Support for your endeavors could be withdrawn. And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

The muscle in Lotor's jaw flexed. "No, we would not."

"To ensure that our plans come to fruition, you must follow what advice we can give you. While your prowess is battle is legendary, maneuvering through Illyrian politics might prove to be difficult for you. Here, in Illyria, orders are not so easily obeyed as they are on Doom."

Lotor seemed to relent, and he returned to studying the datapad. "Which of these families is most loyal to you...and has daughters?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"I have been thinking of what threat my cousin Tabor might pose. Your grandmother made mention last night of having him come to Illyria to find a wife...one with a very large dowry and a very attractive title." Lotor rose and went to the table to pour himself some more wine. "If you could possibly put together a list of names, Prime Minister Fosco, I will approach my father about it as soon as I get it. We might have Tabor come to experience the delights of Illyria and have him married by the time Sophie and I return to Doom."

Fosco's eyes glinted amusedly at this sudden change in the Prince's attitude toward him. He said nothing of it, though, and bowed, murmuring, "I shall do so right away, Your Highness. If I may be dismissed, Your Grace..."

"Of course," Sebastian replied quickly, and Fosco retired from the room, leaving the two younger men alone to talk.

"I will have you know, Sebastian, that I do intend on launching an attack of some kind while on my honeymoon," Lotor said casually, raising a snow-white eyebrow. "It will be from one of Sophie's holdings, of course. Nevah. It's closest to the smaller planets that have not yet fallen to us. There are two or three that I would like to bring into the Drule Empire. While everyone is lulled into a false sense of security believing I am too wrapped up in the joys of the marriage bed to plan anything, Doom's forces will strike."

"And you will lure Voltron into battle with you, and capture the Princess Allura and make her your whore?" Sebastian said. "I thought you were going to cease your pursuit of Allura for the time being."

"I'm not pursuing Allura, but glory. Should I capture her, I'll have her held someplace special until I'm ready to take her. She will be a queen of some kind...but not in the official capacity that Sophie is."

"If you didn't succeed, you would be making a fool of yourself in front of the Illyrian nobles who would so fervently support you. Lotor, I must advise against this."

"And I'm not following your advice. When plans have been finalized, I will inform you. You, Sophie, and your noblemen may watch from one of your ducal liners. It's important that you see what Voltron is capable of and how an Illyrian-supported attack on Arus might be just the way to seize the mecha."

"And it would be just the way to claim Allura and humiliate Sophie," Sebastian retorted harshly.

"Sophie will not be humiliated. The marriage was an alliance marriage from its conception. It isn't _my_ fault if my wife loses her heart to me."

"You would make her suffer."

"I would not make her suffer. She will be my primary wife and my Queen, though Allura would have my heart. You see, Sebastian, I always find ways of obtaining what I want." The hint of triumph in his voice, the way his eyes glittered as he said it vexed Sebastian.

"Have a care, Lotor," Sebastian warned. "You don't what we Illyrians are capable of when pushed too far."

Lotor smirked. "And you, Sebastian, don't know what _I _am capable of when provoked."

* * *

"Your husband," Sebastian said angrily to his sister, "must be brought to heel."

Sophie sighed audibly as she picked up her riding crop. "How am I to bring him to heel when he has already begun to assert his dominance over my holdings?"

"You must tell him that you do not permit it."

"But under Drule law my holdings are his," Sophie pointed out.

Sebastian threw himself onto the sofa angrily. "Why not ask for the witch to be brought to Illyria?"

"Haggar?"

"She would bring him to heel if you apprised her of your concerns...and wept a bit as you did so. She seems to have taken a liking to you," Sebastian remarked.

"The only reason Haggar has taken a liking to me is because I'm a means to an end for her...and because I have guaranteed her some safety if Lotor does not fulfill his promises." Sophie placed a hand on her hip and eyed her brother levelly.

"Nonetheless, she would bring him to heel and talk sense into him. Beg her to come. I have tired of Lotor's arrogance and rashness already." Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I shall do better than that," Sophie promised. "I shall have him ask Haggar to come to Illyria himself."

* * *

Sophie found Lotor in the sitting room of his chambers, and he looked up from the starmaps he was studying when he heard her enter. "Sophie. How was your horseback ride with your grandmother?" he asked her, rising from the desk.

"It was lovely, Lotor," she replied, going to him and kissing him. "Were you closeted with my brother and Count Fosco all morning?"

"Unfortunately, I was," he answered. "Your brother is dead set against the attack I'm planning."

"So he has told me," Sophie said, and Lotor took a step away from her.

"He came to you already?"

"He did, but I haven't come to talk about that with you. I should like to have Haggar come to Illyria and offer her skills as a midwife. I'm determined that this pregnancy be a worry-free one, and were she here, my fears would be greatly allayed. Couldn't you ask your father to spare her for a week or so?" Sophie took Lotor's hands into her own and gazed up at him beseechingly.

"I would have to tell him about the pregnancy," Lotor warned her.

"Do so if you must," she told him. "I'm sure he will do whatever he can to ensure that this pregnancy is successful."

"I'll contact her in a moment," he told her, and she kissed him.

"You're a very considerate husband, Lotor. Thank you," Sophie said, beaming. He bent to kiss her on the forehead.

"Do you still trust my decision to mount an attack from Nevah, Sophie?" he asked her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Of course I do, Lotor. You're my husband. Why wouldn't I support your decisions?"

"Your brother disagrees that this is a good idea. I believe it's an excellent opportunity. You will speak to him about this, won't you?"

"I will," Sophie said. "I can bring him around, Lotor. I've always been able to bring Sebastian around."

"I believe that you will," he said, smiling. "You're one of my greatest assets, Sophie. Always remember that."

"I will," she answered before she took her leave of him.

* * *

Romelle of Pollux was even more beautiful in person than she was in the video conversations she and Sebastian had had so many times over the last year or so.

She was about Sophie's height, and there was a vibrancy about her that Sebastian found to be very appealing. She seemed just a little overwhelmed at the grandeur of the Duchess Mycene's palace, but she held her own ground as Sebastian introduced his grandmother and his sister. Young Prince Bandor seemed just as awestruck as his older sister, and the Duchess Mycene took it upon herself to make the young boy feel welcome.

Sebastian offered Romelle his arm and led Romelle to the orangery while Sophie and her ladies maintained a polite distance in the water garden. Romelle looked up at Sebastian with shining eyes and flushed cheeks as she took his arm.

"It's all so beautiful," she declared, a smile crossing her lips. "I never thought it was so beautiful. It's not _new_, like everything is on Pollux, but it's just all so _grand_!"

"You have yet to see the Vasary palace," he said to her. "The gardens are even lovelier, and I can show you where my sister and I played as children."

"With Prince Lotor of Doom?" she asked, curiosity in her tone of voice.

"More often than not, he would come to the summer palace in the mountains. You would adore _that_, too, Romelle," Sebastian said.

She let go of his arm, going to look at one of the orange trees. "And you have an orangery, too?"

"We have a great many fruit trees in our gardens at the Vasary palace. You shall have your own plot where you can have any tree or shrub you wish planted, and should you want oranges, you would have all of the oranges you wanted."

"And I would be a Grand Duchess...of all this," she whispered, turning to face him.

"You would be the wife of one of the most powerfulmen in the Denubian Galaxy. Whatever you wished for, I would give you." He took her hands into his. "Is this something you would like?"

She tilted her head, that smile still gracing her face. "Would you be kind to me, Sebastian? And to Bandor?"

"I should endeavor to be the best husband I could be to you," Sebastian answered. "And I would treat Bandor as my own brother. If you wish for him to live in Illyria, and if your father allows it, he might have rooms in the palace and be treated as an Illyran archduke."

"You would set all of Illyria at my feet when I never asked for it," Romelle said.

"I would give my people a dazzling Grand Duchess. They will adore you, and they'll sing of your beauty, your wit, your grace, and your charm." He cupped her cheek in his hand. "Now will you answer me this: Do you accept my formal proposal, and will you consent to be my wife?"

She looked up at him with her beautiful cerulean eyes, and she nodded excitedly. "Yes, Sebastian—I do. I'll consent to be your wife." He kissed her gently on the mouth, and he ran his hand through her hair.

"You have made me a very happy man," he said to her, "and I can only promise you that I will do all that I can to ensure that you will be as happy."


End file.
